The Dreams of Angels
by Elaina7774
Summary: Ever since her father died, Christine has been bossed around endlessly by her stepfamily. They have taken everything from her, including her music. Her only hope rests in a masked musican who she is forbidden to see.
1. Prologue

**AN:** Hello, everyone! This is not my first fanfiction so I do not lack expierance in writing. I hope you read it, enjoy it, and then review! I would really appreciate it! 

**Story Notes:** This story will turn out an E/C but it should be friendly to R/C readers. In the beginning, the story is going to have several elements of 'Cinderella' in it. I'm sure you'll be able to see it from the prologue. Erik will have a half mask. I'm going to go for the half angel, half demon Erik. This is also an AU story. So Anadora is not a real place. Most of the names in this fic are going to be French.

**Shout Outs:** A big thank you to my beta reader 'Timeless Rose'!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of any version of Phantom of the Opera. However, if I do obtain the rights I shall inform you immediately. :-P**

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**The Dreams of Angels**

**Prologue**

Anadora was the type of town that was small enough that when a resident walked down Main Street they could see many people they knew. It was also large enough that if someone wanted to remain isolated they could do so without rumors about them flying around the town.

The residents of the town ranged from rich to poor. The rich tried to keep away from the poor as much as possible in order to upkeep their precious reputations. They were much more interested in gossiping about their fellow class members then they were about the lower classes anyway.

The rich held fancy balls, and went to tea time gatherings. Rich boys learned sports, the arts, and studied to become scholars. Rich girls learned manners, conversation skills, and how to become the perfect wife.

The poor did not attend fancy balls or social gatherings. Poor boys and girls learned how to work at an early age. Poor boys learned their father's trade. Poor girls learned how to keep a house.

Christine Daae had been born into the upper class. The rich class. When she was young she had learned her manners and how to keep up her appearance. She learned how to read, to write, and, on her father's insistence, she learned how to read music. She was the perfect, charming little girl that lived in a big house just outside of town. Yet, she had a free-spirit to her that she was forbidden to exhibit amongst other nobles.

Tragedy struck the Daae family with the death of the mother. It wasn't long after when the father, Charles Daae, felt that his little daughter needed a mother. He remarried to a middle class widow with two daughters of her own. Francine Dawney was a seemingly polite, warm woman who presented herself well to the rest of the upper-class. It didn't take her long to become a popular member at balls and meetings.

Her daughters, Alice and Nathalie, were in every way their mother's daughters. The eldest, Alice, was a year older than Christine. She had inherited her mother's beauty, material desires, and charming manners. Nathalie was two years younger than Christine. She looked up to her big sister and tried to mimic her actions, though she wasn't quite as glamorous as her sister.

Christine tried to be as pleasant as possible to her new siblings and mother. Yet she couldn't help but to be suspicious of them. They didn't seem to like her at all. Any smile that they sent her way seemed fake to Christine. They tried to avoid her as much as possible. They probably would have forgotten about her all together had it not been for Charles Daae. It was clear to all members of the family that Christine was the only one that Charles was truly fond of. The marriage had been for Christine. All decisions he had made afterward were mostly for Christine. He loved Christine. He loved his deceased wife. It was only natural for his new wife and daughters to feel jealous.

When Christine was ten, Charles became fatally ill. No doctor could do anything to stop the illness from spreading throughout his entire body. On the night he died, he called Christine to him. He made her promise him she would remain the sweet, independent girl he knew she was. He made her promise that she would never give up music.

After Charles' death, Christine noticed a dramatic change in her step family. Her stepmother became openly cold and cruel toward her. She cared only for her two daughters. She would have loved to send Christine out to the streets, but society would not allow that of her. Instead, she took away all that Christine had. She took away her birthright, her room, her clothes, her toys, and her books. She took away her music. The piano was moved from the house and her father's violin kept locked away. Christine was not allowed to sing.

Christine was given a small room in the attic and simple clothes to wear. Over the course of a year, Christine became nothing more than a servant in her own house. Society didn't miss her. They believed she had become unbecoming due to continuous grief over her father's death.

Christine forced herself to remain cheerful and pleasant as the years passed. It was what her father had wanted. She tried fiercely not to give up her music. She sang when she was out of earshot of her stepfamily.

Yet by the time she was 18, she had pretty much given up hope on her music. She had begun to accept her fate as a mere servant to her unloving family. Her only hope was that she would one day gather up enough money to support herself. She would then leave her stepfamily for good.

Until then, she was stuck as a servant in a house she used to love. She was as unwanted as dirt and because of that she was stepped on. The only thing that kept her alive and pleasant was her promise to her father. She just had hope that one day her freedom and music would return to her.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** A big thanks to everyone who read the very short prologue. A special thanksto those who reviewed! Any chapters I write from now on with be from 2,500 words to 4,000. Updates could be as short as one week or as long as one month (though I hope that's not the case because I only have one story to write right now). I'll try not to leave you hanging for too long! Updating will probably come to a temporary halt during June exams and also a week prior to May 5th (AP European History Exam :-P). But I'll try to write chapters in advance and then spread them out over those weeks.

A big thanks to my beta 'Timeless Rose'!

Read and Review please!

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**The Dreams of Angels**

**Chapter 1**

"Do you think I should wear the pink one or the light blue one?" asked Alice, holding two separate dresses up against her. She had been staring into the mirror for the last five minutes, deciding on what color fit the occasion. Christine glanced over at the pile of beautiful dresses that lay discarded on the floor. It was not a mystery on who would be the one to pick them up.

"I like the blue one," said Nathalie, from her seat in front of the vanity. Christine was attempting to take out the curlers from her stepsister's hair. Nathalie insisted on having curly hair just like Alice. The only way to obtain them was to wear curlers when she slept. Of course, she was too lazy to take the time to put them in herself so she relied on her maids to do them for her. Christine usually got stuck with the curling duty. Nathalie claimed she was the best at it.

"That means I should go with the pink one," said Alice, throwing the blue dress on her bed. "Hurry up with her hair, Christine. I need my corset laced."

"Just a minute," replied Christine, releasing the strands of Nathalie's brunette hair from the last curler. She finished up with her younger stepsister's hair and rushed over to Alice who was waiting impatiently with her corset at hand.

"We have to leave in fifteen minutes," grumbled Alice. "And I still have to do my makeup. Hurry up!"

Christine pulled tightly on the corset, causing Alice to lose her breathe. Christine couldn't help but smirk at the expression on Alice's face.

"Loosen it up, girl!" she cried, practically gasping for breath. "Honestly!"

It was a typical morning at the Daae residence. Maids could be found scurrying around the house performing various tasks. The head of the house, Francine Dawney Daae, could be found in her room or busy ordering the butlers and maids around downstairs. Her two daughters and their stepsister could be found upstairs in Alice's bedroom. Francine called it 'sister bonding time'. Yet anyone who walked into the room could see it was anything but that. Two of the girls would be busy getting themselves ready and putting on fancy dresses. The other girl would be running between the two of them, fixing this and that on their dresses, hair, and makeup.

Christine was in a rather cheerful mood this morning. Her stepmother and stepsisters were going to visit their aunt for the day and weren't expected back until close to nightfall. That meant a day free of yelling, complaining, shrieking…

"Christine! I can't find my shoes!"

Christine glanced over at Nathalie who was still sitting at the vanity and looking around the room for her pair of shoes.

"They're to the right of the bed."

Nathalie looked over to where Christine had spotted them. She groaned loudly.

"Could you get them for me?"

Christine resisted a loud groan herself. Was it so difficult to pick oneself up and get a pair of shoes off the ground?

"Christine is helping me now," said Alice, as she slipped on her dress. "You are perfectly capable of getting them yourself."

Nathalie frowned, clearly not pleased with the prospect of getting up. But as a rule, she respected her elder sister and did as she was told.

"I usually don't envy you, Christine," said Alice, examining herself in the mirror. "But this aunt is simply dull." She smirked. "But at least I won't be covered in dirt at the end of the evening. Auntie would go on a tirade if I didn't look presentable."

Had Alice said this to anyone else, they probably would have gone red in the face and have been offended. But Christine was used to these remarks and brushed them off lightly. They were just Alice's way of reminding everyone that she was the one in the beautiful dresses and not Christine.

Even before Christine's father had died they had been rivals. Alice was the one with the sharp tongue and she was not afraid to use it. Whenever a fight broke out between them, Alice's mother would always take her daughter's side. Charles Daae, feeling the need to keep his marriage together, would usually end up lightly punishing Christine but making up for it later if the fault had not been truly hers. Of course, her stepfamily had known about it. After Charles' death, Alice had spent every moment she could making fun of her sister and getting her into trouble. Over the years the abuse had died down but it was still present. Christine chose to ignore it.

"We have to go to a dinner party tomorrow," said Alice, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "Madame Jeanine's. That old bat should have given up on these parties years ago. They're nothing but talk. At the very least she should hire a good musician."

It was moments like these that made Christine grateful that her stepfamily was not fond of her. Ever since her father died she had not attended a single party and she certainly did not miss them. The only thing she missed was the acceptance.

Both Christine and Nathalie had to put up with Alice's complaining for another five minutes. They were saved when the door opened to reveal a rather round woman dressed in simple attire. Like Christine's, it put her out of place in the expensive bedroom. Marthe Acton, however, was not one to be imitated by people or things. That was why she was the most respected woman of the household-something Francine Dawney could never be.

"Your mother is looking for you two," said Marthe, glancing over at Alice disapprovingly. "Stop fussing with your hair, Miss Alice. You're just going to make it worse."

Alice frowned and placed the hair brush down on her vanity. She flipped her hair once to set it in place. Christine and Marthe watched in mild interest as she strutted out of the room with her sister close behind her. Marthe chuckled.

"They never fail to amuse me, those two."

"You wouldn't find them as amusing if you had to spend each morning with them," said Christine, bending over to pick up the remaining dresses from the floor. Marthe nodded in agreement.

"If I was your age I would have snapped within fifteen minutes. But not you, Miss Daae. Patient as a saint."

Christine laughed. "Hardly."

"Well you have enough patience to be a saint," assured Marthe. "It's a down-right sin, taking a respectable young lady like yourself and making you wait on those buffoons. I swear your father and mother are turning over in their graves. God rest their souls."

"I would rather work for them than have them call me their family," said Christine, hanging up the dresses in the wardrobe. "At least I don't have to go visit some old aunt that no one likes."

"Yes. Instead you must go to the market," said Marthe, handing Christine a folded up piece of paper and an envelope. "Adeline wrote out the list so I don't know how well you can read it. There's not that much."

Christine placed the list and the envelope in her pocket. "Anything to get out of here. You won't mind if I don't come home till later?"

Marthe frowned at her. "If you want us all to starve go ahead."

Christine laughed and slipped out of the room with Marthe not too far behind her. As she walked down the hall she looked around at the house she had lived in since the day she was born. She was sure she knew almost every nook and cranky by heart. The house was full of memory. Some good. Some bad. Not every memory after her father's death was bad and not every memory before that day was good.

The day her father died was the day that her life had changed completely. She had gone from riches to rags the moment Charles Daae had breathed his last breath. She now washed the floors she once played on. She washed the dishes she once ate upon. She mended the clothes that she could have worn. But life was full of changes. You never knew when one would take place. When it did you just had to adjust.

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Christine smiled to herself as she left the bakery shop. She could still feel the warm cherry pastry in her skirt's pocket. The baker's young 19-year old son had slipped it to her with a wink as she had exited the shop. Christine couldn't help but giggle at the young man's constant flirting with her each time she came in to get bread. She knew she shouldn't be encouraging him. Francine had made it quite clear that she was not allowed to have a lover. But Christine didn't have the willpower to say no to a cute man and a pastry. 

Francine's plans for her future were positively disgusting anyway. She planned to clean her up one day and wed her off to some horrible old man with some money and the right connections. Christine winced at the very thought of it. She wondered idly if she could ever get the baker's son to agree to run away with her.

Christine felt a soft thug on her bag, snapping her out of her daydreams. She turned around quickly to see two boys running off in the opposite direction. Christine glanced down at the bag and made the connection.

"Stop you little thieves!" called Christine, running after the two retreating boys. Oh, Francine would kill her if she didn't come back with the right food and the correct amount of money! Why couldn't those boys steal from someone who wasn't in a sticky situation to begin with?

The boys turned a street corner and entered a busy street. Christine halted as she met with a crowd of people and carriages. She looked hectically around for the two boys and her loaf of bread.

"Stupid boys," Christine mumbled under her breath. There was no choice but to turn back and pay for another loaf. It would take some money of her own to buy it but at least she wouldn't get scolded for it. Still, those boys needed to be taught that they couldn't get away with stealing.

Before Christine turned around to head back, she spotted the two boys riding on the back of a covered carriage. Stealing and hitch-hiking all within minutes of each other.

Looking back at it, Christine realized she must have looked like a fool running after a carriage in the manner that she did. But when you have your mind set on one thing, in this case it was getting bread, you tend to go to any extreme to get it. This was no-exception.

The carriage stopped as Christine run near it. The boys, seeing their pursuer was nearly within reach, jumped off the back and made to run back into the large crowd. To the surprise off all three of them, the carriage door opened and a man stepped outside just in time to grab the collar on one of the boys' shirts. The other boy barely glanced back at his comrade as he racing off into the crowd. Faithful friend indeed.

"Let go!" cried the boy, struggling against the man's firm grip. "I'll get my pa. He'll show ya somethin'!"

The man just chuckled. He was a tall foreign man with tanned skin and dark hair. He seemed rich by the looks of his clothing but he also appeared to be friendly. There was an inviting look on his face that made Christine feel it was safe to approach him.

"Lemme go!" said the boy, continuing to struggle. He shouted some ill-formed threats at the man who just brushed them off.

"Give the lady back her bread," demanded the man, in an accented voice. Christine had never heard such an accent as his before. She was slightly intrigued by it.

"It's mine!" protested the boy. "It's her own fault she wasn't lookin' after her bag! I earned it."

"This lady bought the bread and therefore it belongs to her," insisted the man. Still the boy made no motion to return the stolen item. "I'm not letting you go till you give it back."

The boy scowled. Christine watched in horror as he squeezed the bread tightly with his two hands. He threw it back at her.

"Have the stupid bread."

The man was clearly not amused anymore. He opened his mouth to give the boy a good, clean scolding but Christine stopped him.

"Just let him go," she said, picking up the malformed bread. "I can buy another one."

The man shook his head, not ready to quit. He held on to the boy's shirt tighter, making the young lad wince.

"Apologize."

The boy just stuck his tongue out at Christine, causing her to go red in the face.

"It's alright," Christine said, quietly. She didn't wish to cause any more trouble than necessary. She didn't need a couple of boys without any morals hating her. "You can let him go."

"Yeah. Listen to her," agreed the boy. He stomped on the man's polished shoes, creating a footmark. To Christine's surprise the man showed no signs of letting go.

"Do you want me to turn you in to the authorities?"

"They wouldn't care 'bout me!" said the boy, smirking. "Bread means nothin' to them."

The man frowned and whispered something into the boy's ear. Christine watched as the boy paled.

"Now apologize," said the man, returning to full height.

The boy hesitated for a moment. He looked back up at the man who gave him a stern, perhaps even threatening, look. The boy groaned.

"I'm sorry," mumbled the boy. He looked up and sneered at Christine. "'bout squishin' the bread that is. It's your own fault you weren't lookin' after it."

That seemed to be good enough for the man for he let the boy go. They watched as the boy ran off in the direction of his friend, but not after sticking his tongue out at them first.

"Um…thank you," said Christine, looking at the squished bread. It was broken into two pieces in the paper bag. She sighed and shook her head. This was not what she needed.

She looked back up to see that the man was sticking his head back into the carriage. She could hear that he was speaking to another person inside of it. What he was saying was a complete mystery to her.

Christine wondered whether it was best to just leave now or to wait until the man was done speaking so she could express her thanks. He didn't give her long to decide, for a moment later he stepped back into the open and faced her.

"Pardon me for my rudeness," said the man, his accent notably thicker. "I'm sorry for the trouble the boy has caused you."

Christine shook her head. "Don't apologize and thank you." Christine smiled and held up the remains of the bread. "At least I have proof that I spent money on extra bread and not something else. I just might get a scolding for letting this happen in the first place though."

"Ah, well I do not wish for you to be scolded," said the man. Christine's eye brows furrowed as he held out his hand. In it were three coins whose value were more than enough to pay for two loaves of bread. "That is why it would be my pleasure to provide you with the money for another loaf."

Christine felt her cheeks grow red for a second time that hour. He must think her a poor charity case. Sure she didn't look her best but that didn't mean she needed money!

"I have plenty, sir," said Christine. "I don't want to take it from you."

"I have plenty as well," reassured the man. He smiled slightly. "Would you take this money if a friend offered it to you?"

Christine shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't as if the man himself made her feel weird. It was the situation.

"I suppose," answered Christine.

"Then consider this a friend helping a friend," said the man. He chuckled at the hesitant expression on Christine's face. "I won't leave until you accept it."

Seeing no other way, Christine accepted the money. She felt greedy as she did and was immediately ashamed of herself.

"Thank you, sir," she said, feeling awkward. "You must excuse me. I have to get home."

The man nodded. As soon as he said farewell, Christine was off. She walked through the streets, fingering the coins in her hand. She should have never have accepted them. She didn't need money. She would rather face her stepmother's silly scolding than feel as if she had cheated someone.

Christine looked up as she heard crude music through the roar of the crowd. Her eyes met with a boy, not much older than those who had stolen from her, attempting to play a simple piece on a fiddle. Lying in front of him was an open instrument case.

She wondered how he ever came across his fiddle. Perhaps his father had once played it and when he died the boy had inherited it. Perhaps his father had been a good musician but now his son was reduced to playing on the streets as a result of his death.

Christine walked over to where the boy stood and deposited the coins into the fiddle case. The boy looked up from his fiddle, not quite sure how to react. After awhile, a small smile formed on the corners of his lips. Christine smiled back at him, feeling a sense of warmth fill her body. She walked away feeling pleased with herself. What could she say? She always had a soft spot for musicians.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I'm so happy with the response this story is getting! Thank you to all readers and reviewers! You guys are great! Please keep it up! It really does help! Thank you to my beta reader, Timeless Rose. Her help is making my fanfiction life alot easier. :-D

Just to clear a couple of things up - The man with the accent is Nadir/The Persian. I'm sure most of you know who he is...although certain people (coughALWcough) forgot to mention him... And Erik will be making his debut in this story within the next two chapters. I'm not sure which one. (Btw, Raoul has not entered the story yet.) Other thing, I am writing the beginning of this story with an 'Ever After' atmosphere in mind. I might pick up an idea or two from that movie-not the disney movie or the Cinderella musical. For those who haven't seen 'Ever After' I highly recommend it for anyone that likes romances. It's a great movie. :-D

Read and Review please!**

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**Chapter 2**

Christine sat up on her knees, pushing a stray strand of blonde curly hair behind her ear. She sighed, glancing up and down the long entrance hallway of the Daae residence. One half, from the door to where she sat, was newly washed. The other half lacked the sparkling cleanness of the first half.

"Don't stop now," chastised Lucie, one of the housemaids, as she came down the stairs with a duster. "The Mistress will be furious if she walked through the door and saw the floor still dirty."

Christine sighed, marveling at Lucie's ability to walk in on her while she took a second's break from her chores. It was as if she had a sixth sense that she liked using to make Christine's life more difficult.

Lucie was fairly new to the staff. Francine had hired her after her former employee, a good friend of Francine's, passed away only a few years ago. Having previously been the head housekeeper, Lucie did not adjust well to Marthe's superiority over the household. After a few months, she gave up trying to claim status over all the other servants. That did not stop her from feeling as if she had power over the younger servants – including Christine.

A carriage could be heard pulling up to the main entrance of the mansion as Christine finished drying the last few feet of the hall. Unwilling to confront her stepfamily, who would certainly be grumpy after having to spend a whole day with a dull aunt, Christine hurried out of sight, through the hallways, and into the kitchen.

"They're back?" asked Marthe looking up from the kitchen counter that she was busy cleaning. She laughed softly to herself. "Only a couple things that would make you scurry about like that…one of them being your very own stepfamily."

"I know it's sad," said Christine, pouring out the dirty bucket of water into the sink.

"They are very sad," mused Marthe. "I admired your father, but the biggest mistake of his life was marrying that woman. I would be out of here if it weren't for you. I made a promise to your mother and…"

Christine smiled as she listened to Marthe ramble on about her sworn duty to the Daae family. The 'real Daae family' as she liked to put it. Marthe had never accepted her father's marriage to Francine. She knew the Dawney's were nothing but bad news.

"Marthe!" came a call from out in the halls. The screechy voice could be heard from all over the house and was completely recognizable.

Christine laughed as Marthe rolled her eyes at the kitchen door. She took off her kitchen apron and threw it off to the side.

"Can you do me a favor, honey?" asked Marthe, before walking out of the kitchen. She pointed over to the corner of the counter. "Peel those apples." She smiled and winked at Christine. "I'm making apple pie. Don't tell the Dawneys. They ain't getting any."

Christine laughed as she picked up an apple and the apple peeler. Marthe would have to be daft to seriously believe that she would tell her stepfamily about the pie. They would devour any dessert before Christine even got a chance to look at it. It was a wonder how they ever managed to stay as thin as toothpicks.

Christine remembered being initially shocked at Alice and Nathalie's liking for food. During the first meal they had eaten together, Alice had eaten two slices of Marthe's cake and Nathalie two and a half. Christine smiled at the image of Francine's eyes on the tempting cake. To be polite she had only taken one slice but her eyes had been on the rest of it throughout the evening.

Christine remembered that evening only too well. It was the second time she had seen her future stepfamily. Her father and she had decided to put on a little performance for the Dawneys. Charles had played on his violin while Christine sang along.

Christine sighed, longingly. That was back in the days when she could sing. Vaguely she wondered what her voice would sound like to another's ears. Was it any good or had time destroyed it?

Glancing around her, Christine cleared her throat. It wouldn't hurt just to sing quietly for a moment. Would it? They couldn't hear. Francine was busy and Alice and Nathalie were probably upstairs. She could get away with it. She just had to sing quietly.

She began to sing a simple folk song that her father had taught her when she was very young. It was a tune she usually sang or hummed when she wished no one to hear her. It didn't go up too high but stayed in the range where she could remain quiet.

Christine sang the song over and over again as she continued to peel the apples. As her mind wandered off to thoughts of her decreased father, her voice became more confident and stronger.

"So it's you!"

The sudden voice made Christine drop an apple in shock. Her head snapped up to look at the kitchen door. She felt her face grow red when her eyes met with Alices'.

"I could get you into so much trouble," laughed Alice, as Christine bent over to pick up the apple. "You know mother hates it when you sing. It reminds her of your good-for-nothing father. How he left us."

Christine felt anger swell up inside of her. No one talked about her father like that. No one! How she would have loved to snap back at Alice. How she would have enjoyed flinging insult after insult at her!

Christine let out a loud, aggravated huff of breath and turned her back toward Alice. As much as she would have loved to fight back, she knew she couldn't. Her father's death had always been a touchy subject for the family. If she argued with Alice over it, she would find herself locked in her room with no food for days. Besides, her father would have wanted her to be strong and get along with her stepfamily.

Seeing that Christine wasn't going to fight back only annoyed Alice. She let out a 'humph' and sat down casually at the kitchen table. She made Christine feel like a caged animal, only there for her stepfamily to laugh at. They poked her with sticks to see how far she could go before bursting out into tears and screams. She hated it.

"I think mother's coming around though," said Alice. "She told me just a couple of days ago that she was thinking about me taking voice lessons. She says singing is one of the skills that helps catch a good husband. Gentleman like girls that can sing."

Christine felt jealousy stab her and was immediately ashamed by it. Alice knew she wanted to improve her voice! She knew she wanted singing lessons! That horrible, wretched…

"It's just your singing that she has a problem with," continued Alice, calmly. "I'm starting to think that it's not just about your father. You do sound like a drowning cat."

That was it! She had reached the breaking point. Alice had messed with the wrong subject. It took every ounce of control that Christine possessed to keep her from attacking her stepsister. Christine placed the last apple into the bowl and stormed out of the kitchen. The nerve Alice had! Never before could Christine remember being so angry at her!

As soon as Christine was out of the kitchen, she took off through the halls and went out the backdoor. She collapsed by the side of the mansion and sank to the ground. She had once told herself that no matter how terrible it got, she wouldn't cry. She was on the verge of breaking that promise to herself.

Christine buried her head between her knees, willing herself to hold back her tears. Her situation wasn't bad enough for her to cry. It was just words. Her life wouldn't change because Alice insulted her father and her voice. Both were dead anyway. Her voice had been buried with her father. It wasn't meant to come back.

After a couple of minutes, Christine gathered up the strength to stand up and composed herself. She wasn't going to let Alice win her silly battle. She had to go right back into the house and show her stepfamily that words meant nothing to her. Words were just words and they would be forgotten in a matter of time. Words couldn't slap you or push you to the ground.

_It's just your singing that she has a problem with._

Christine felt tears gather up in her eyes once more as Alice's words repeated themselves over and over in her head.

_Your good-for-nothing father…_

_You do sound like a drowning cat…_

_Good-for-nothing…_

If words couldn't slap you or push you, then why did they hurt so much?

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Christine rolled Nathalie's long, damp hair around the curler. She was careful not to pull on her younger sister's hair and risk upsetting her. Nathalie wouldn't do anything but wince and tell her to be more careful, but Christine didn't want to end the day being on the bad side of both her stepsisters. 

"Why did you run outside today?" asked Nathalie, looking up from her book. "You looked like you were crying."

Christine frowned, wishing Nathalie did not have to bring up the subject. She just wanted to put the evening behind her.

"It's nothing," answered Christine, picking up another curler.

Nathalie didn't pursue the subject any longer. She looked back into her book, but every once and awhile her eyes would look around the vanity at the various objects. She was bored and yearning for conversation. At the same time, Christine was dying to know something. She knew the answer would probably just upset her, but it was bugging her to no end.

"Is it true that Alice is going to have voice lessons?" asked Christine, quietly.

Nathalie looked up and shrugged. "I guess. Mama said something about it." Nathalie giggled. "I'll feel sorry for her voice teacher. I've heard her sing. She's positively awful!"

Christine couldn't help but smile and feel a little bit better. Knowing that Alice was no better at singing than herself made the battle grounds a little more even. If one of them had to be a drowning cat, the other might as well be one too.

"I don't much like singing, personally," said Nathalie. "I know you do, though. It's a pity mama doesn't let you sing."

"I doubt you want to hear my voice," said Christine, bitterly.

Nathalie frowned at the bitter tone in her stepsister's voice. "No. I liked listening to you sing. Your father played the violin very well too. Through I found it boring when it was only him playing."

Christine felt a smile play at her lips. It was good to know that not everyone found her voice to be horrible, even if the person that once liked her voice couldn't carry a tune herself.

"Oh!" exclaimed Nathalie, excitedly. "Do you know the old Beaufort mansion?"

Christine nodded. It was one of the mansions closest to them. Sir Beaufort had moved out of it last winter and had been looking for someone to sell it to. Christine had never been in the manor itself but she had passed by it a couple of times. It looked beautiful from the outside. Beautiful and large.

"Someone's moving into it," said Nathalie, proud to know the latest gossip. "They were talking about it over at Auntie's."

"Who's moving into it?" asked Christine, mildly interested. It wasn't everyday that someone new came to Anadora. Yet, at the same time, she was not concerned about the lives of other nobles. She had three to deal with herself and that was plenty for her.

"No one really knows," said Nathalie. "But Auntie says she's heard rumors that he's a musician. Sir Beaufort had a really good piano that he bought along with the house. Christine, what makes a piano a good piano? Aren't they all the same keys?"

"Well. The keys have to be in tune. I'm sure there are things like the structure and material used to make it. Then there's…"

"Oh," said Nathalie, cutting her off. Christine couldn't help but smile a bit. Nathalie truly did have little interest in music.

Christine finished up with Nathalie's hair and saw that she was all set before heading up to her own room. When her father had died, she had been given a small room in the attic to live in. The room she had slept in as a child was converted into a guest room. She was not allowed to enter it unless it was to clean. Christine didn't mind. She did not wish to dwell in the past. She did not wish to be reminded of what she lost.

Before Christine could ascend the steps leading up to her room, she was stopped by her stepmother. Christine couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by Francine Dawney's tall form in the candlelight. Her beautiful face was twisted by the darkness and by the light the candle admitted onto it.

She spoke to Christine in a harsh whisper, as to not disturb her sleeping daughters.

"Alice told me she caught you singing," said Francine, her sharp, dark eyes looking over Christine accusingly. "I thought I made it very clear that I would not hear a Daae sing or play a note ever again."

Christine felt a familiar anger fill her. She was the animal back in the cage again. They thought they could boss her around and take everything from her.

"Yes, ma'am," said Christine. She looked up boldly into her stepmother's eyes. "But what about Alice…"

"Alice is not a Daae," snapped Francine. She frowned at Christine. "She's a Dawney. Now get to bed."

She turned around and walked away. Christine knew the best thing to do would be to go right up the stairs and forget the encounter with Francine. Yet, against her better judgment, Christine spoke once more.

"You didn't have a problem with music until my father passed away."

Francine turned around quickly. Christine flinched at the look she was receiving but did not back down.

"My family will not be reminded of what he did to us," said Francine, glaring at her stepdaughter.

"He left you with a lot of money and security," said Christine. "What's so wrong about that?"

Francine said nothing for a moment. She just stared at Christine. Finally she turned her back toward her.

"Get to bed."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hello! I'm sry about the slight delay of this chapter. I've been very busy with school and my AP test. But this is a very long chapter so I hope that makes up for it. :-D Thank you for all the reviews! Please tell me how the story is coming along!

Thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and my beta reader, Timeless Rose!

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Chapter 3

"I bet she thinks we have all the time in the world in our hands," exclaimed Marthe, as Christine finished reading a long list of dinner dishes out loud for Marthe to hear. "There's enough food there for a king's banquet."

"Well, Francine probably fancies herself a queen," said Christine, tossing the list aside. "I heard Nathalie hinting this would be their biggest party yet."

Marthe merely grunted and walked over to the sink where the morning's dirty dishes lay waiting to be washed. "Well if she can find enough money to hold these parties, the very least she could do is hire a few more cooks. Get over here and help with these dishes."

Christine obeyed Marthe, knowing better than to cross her when she was fuming. Christine hated it when her stepmother decided to throw together a spur of the moment dinner party. It wasn't the actual party that got to her, it was the preparation. Dishes upon dishes of different foods were to be prepared. The whole house had to be cleaned. The tables had to be set. It all added up to an extremely stressful week. By the day of the party, everyone was at their breaking point and snapping at one another for the slightest mistake or delay. It was no wonder to Christine why her parents hadn't liked to throw any more parties than necessary to keep up image.

Marthe was infamous for relieving her stress by cleaning up everything in sight. The kitchen was looking a considerable amount tidier when Adeline, one of the maids, popped her head through the doorway.

"Ms. Francine wants to see you, Christine," she said, quietly, not daring to step foot into the room while Marthe was viciously cleaning. Christine groaned, looking at the petite woman in the doorway.

"Do I have to?" protested Christine, a grin sneaking onto her face. She'd rather clean than see her own stepmother.

Adeline smiled softly, nodding her head. "She didn't seem mad, Miss."

"Well, you can never tell with her," said Christine, wiping off her hands in a dish towel. She followed Adeline to the door of the study. It had once been her father's office, but quickly after his death Francine had quickly converted it into a miniature library. It was primary used as the room where Alice and Nathalie met with their tutors.

Christine bowed her head sadly as she recalled this fact. All lessons she had had with her tutors had ended with the death of her father. Servants didn't need formal education. They just needed to know how to work.

"It's about time," complained Francine, as Christine entered the room. She was sitting at the desk in the far left corner of the room. "I have a special errand for you to run."

Christine Christine experienced a feelingfelt a feeling of dread fill her stomach. The last time she had been given a special task to do she had to help Nathalie practice her reading skills because her tutor had fallen ill. Christine had been forced to sit there for an hour and a half while Nathalie struggled her way through the first two chapters of her book.

"I need you to run this invitation over to the old Beaufort residence," said Francine, handing a white envelope out to Christine. "The new owner has moved in and I want him at my party."

Christine took the envelope, giving her stepmother a confused look.

"Why didn't you send this out with the other invitations?"

Francine leaned forward on the desk a little bit, as though what she was about to say she didn't want others to hear.

"I want this to be more personal," she said, more quietly than before. "New people find it more welcoming when the invitation is delivered a little more personally. I would send it with one of the other servants but I trust that you know how to present yourself more formally than any of them." She leaned in a little more and spoke in a lower tone. "I also trust that you will tell me everything that you see and hear."

Christine frowned, knowing what her goal was. It was typical of the noble population of Anadora to try to find out everything they could about a new resident. It was like children wanting to find out who the new child in town was to see if they would be a new friend or not. As soon as they had enough information to satisfy them, they would leave the poor person in peace.

"Of course," said Christine, forcing a smile on her face. Inside, she hoped her own mother had never participated in gossiping.

Francine sent her an equally forced smile. "Good girl. Just make sure to change into your best clothes and do something nice with your hair."

Christine briefly fantasized about crumbling up the envelope in her hand and throwing it at her stepmother.

"Don't worry," said Christine, sweetly. "I'll be the perfect little spy."

The fake smile immediately vanished from Francine to be replaced with an equally unappealing frown.

"Don't get smart or you'll find yourself with no dinner."

Christine frowned. She hated it when she was threatened with lack of food.

"Yes, Ma'am," mumbled Christine, before exiting the room. Once out of the study, Christine glanced down at the formal envelope in her hand. She looked at the seal on the back of it. She frowned when she saw that Francine had used the 'Daae' seal. If they were so horrified of being Daae's, why did they use the name?

* * *

An hour later, Christine found herself standing at the front of the old Beaufort residence. She stared up at the old, beautiful home. She remembered her deceased father once telling her that the mansion had been built while his own father was just a young boy. Mr. Beaufort had not let it gone to waste and it was still as beautiful as the day it had been built. Christine couldn't help but believe that the passage of time had made the mansion even grander. 

The mansion was built at the edge of a forest, causing the trees to appear to form a natural barrier around the house. Upon entering the property, one would feel like they had stepped into a completely different world. Such a feel was not unknown to Christine as she walked the pathway up to the front door. Whoever had bought the house from Mr. Beaufort had both excellent taste and money.

Christine stopped as she reached the door. She smoothed out her pale blue dress and fixed her hair. She smiled grimly to herself. Francine would be so proud of her for trying to keep her appearance up for the new neighbors.

She pulled the doorbell and stepped back from the door. She fiddled with the envelope in her hands. Hopefully this would be short, simple, and not awkward. Christine hated awkward conversations, especially those between nobles and herself. They looked down upon her for being a simple servant. The ones that recognized her as a 'Daae' regarded her with pity, thinking that because of her loss she could no longer keep up with the rich class. Little did they know she had been forced to give it up.

It seemed like minutes before the door opened. The woman who answered it was a tall, older lady. She seemed to have a serious look plastered onto her face. Her grey hair was pulled back into a neat, tight bun and she wore a black dress. Christine assumed her to be one of the servants, perhaps the one in charge by the look of authority in her eyes.

"Hello, ma'am," said Christine, politely smiling. She felt slightly intimidated by the older woman in front of her. At the very least the woman didn't seem to be looking down at her. She just seemed very strict and serious.

Christine held out the envelope to the lady. "I'm delivering an invitation to the new residents of the house. It's for a dinner party at the Daae residence next week."

Christine shifted awkwardly as the lady said nothing. She just took the envelope from her hands and looked down at it.

"I will see to it that this gets to Monsieur Richmond," said the lady, finally. "But do not expect him there. He's a very busy man."

Christine smiled slightly. "Sometimes I wish everyone was so they wouldn't have to throw parties."

For the first time, Christine saw the corners of the lady's firm, thin lips curve into a smile.

"Well spoken Mademoiselle…"

"Daae," said Christine, quickly. She was glad the older woman hadn't found her words insulting. She needed to learn how to watch her tongue when she was around strangers.

"So it is your family who is holding this?" asked the lady, flipping the envelope to look at the seal on the back.

Christine shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her 'family'. She wished this didn't have to be brought up.

"My stepfamily is."

The woman's eyes seemed to soften at the realization that the girl in front of her had lost her parents. Christine wished they would resume their initial strictness. She hated being pitied.

The woman seemed to understand her discomfort and she smiled at the young lady.

"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Daae. It's just that I have a daughter of my own."

Christine nodded, looking past the woman to avoid her eyes. She couldn't see much inside of the house besides a grand stairway. Just the short glimpse at it was breathe-taking; making her wonder what the rest of the house looked like.

"I better be going," said Christine, not wishing to slip into another awkward moment between the older woman and herself. She turned to go but the lady stopped her.

"Wait just a moment, Mademoiselle," called the lady. Christine looked back at the lady to see she had opened the door a bit wider.

"Perhaps you can stay a moment for a cup of tea?" she asked. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Christine knew she probably should have said no but curiosity compelled her to accept the woman's invitation. As she followed the woman into the main hall of the mansion she couldn't help but gasp at the beautiful architecture surrounding her. She wished her home was this beautiful.

They entered the kitchen after taking many twists and turns around the house. Christine was invited to take a seat as the lady put a kettle full of water on the stove.

"My name is Madame Giry," said the lady, looking over at Christine. "I'm sorry I forgot to mention that."

"It's ok," said Christine, her eyes still glancing around the kitchen. Surprisingly, it wasn't any larger than the one at her home.

"How do you like your tea?"

"Just sugar, thank you."

In a few moments, a hot cup of tea was placed in front of Christine and Mme. Giry took a seat across from her.

"I know this is a lot to ask of someone I don't know so please excuse me," started Mme. Giry, after taking a sip of her own cup of tea. "But I just moved to Anadora a few days ago to keep house for M. Richmond. I found out soon afterward that he neglected to arrange for food and cleaning supplies to be bought for the house. He's been generous enough to give me however much money I need for them. My only problem is that I don't know my way around the town nor do I know the best places to get the food and materials. M. Richmond has made it very clear he wants only the best."

Christine saw the window of opportunity and she jumped right though it.

"Would you like me to show you around town?" said Christine, instantly perking up and smiling. She would do anything to not have to go home for a few more hours. It was bound to be a terrible day over at the Daae mansion-with Marthe in a bad mood and Alice practicing singing upstairs in her bedroom.

"Well, I was thinking along the lines of one of your family's servants," said Mme. Giry, clearly confused with the young lady's excitement. "I would pay them of course. But if you really want to…"

"I'll be more than happy to," said Christine, smiling widely. Little did this lady know that she _was_ one of the servants in her own household. There was no need to reveal that grim fact, however. It would just confuse her more.

Mme. Giry offered her a warm smile. Christine found it much more welcoming than the thin frown she had been displaying when she had opened the door.

"Thank you, Mlle. Daae," said the older lady across the table. "You don't know how grateful I am."

Christine shook her head. "It's no problem at all."

She was probably the more grateful one anyway.

* * *

Three hours and approximately fifteen shops and stands later, Christine found herself back at the grand mansion unloading the numerous goods from a cart into the kitchen. She was surprised at Mme. Giry's insistence that they purchase only the finest foods and items. Apparently, M. Richmond would settle for nothing but the best. Christine was secretly glad she hadn't met the man. She imaged him to be a selfish, old man with his nose high up in the air. If that was the case, it was a pity such a beautiful house had to be wasted on him. 

"Just put all the food on the counter, will you?" said Mme. Giry as they entered the kitchen. She started to open cabinets to reveal bare shelves. She pointed to the set of new bowls and plates. "You can put those in there. The cooking utensils can go in the drawers right belong tw them. I'll be right back after I put the horse and cart away."

Christine nodded and watched Mme. Giry exit the kitchen. She was glad she had offered to help the older lady out. She was serious and strict that was for sure, but she was also warm and motherly when she wanted to be. She spoke of her daughter, Meg, fondly. Meg probably didn't know how lucky she was to have such a loving mother. Her mother was proud of her and loved her endlessly. Christine found herself hoping that if her mother were alive, she would feel the same way about her.

While Christine was putting away the bowls into the cabinet, a faint sound entered the kitchen. Curious of what it was, Christine stopped for a moment and strained her ears to listen to the sound. She recognized the soft notes coming from above her as music. Violin music to be precise.

The sound continued till it was finished warming up. Christine heart jerked when the violin began to play an all too familiar song. Tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes. It couldn't be…

It couldn't be…

Christine's heart began to beat faster as she placed a bowl back onto the counter and walked out of the kitchen. The sound disappeared as she left the kitchen, confirming her believe that it was coming from right above it. She made her way up a set of stairs to the second level.

As soon as she reached the second floor the music could be heard once more. It was soft and delicate, just like she remembered it. It was as if he was playing it… It was perfect. It was divine. It was everything that she remembered.

It was everything she missed.

She walked down the hall till she was right outside the room where the music was coming from. The music was unmistakable now. She never thought she would hear it again…

The door was open just a crack. Christine allowed herself to push open the door just a bit more so she was able to see inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the back of a man playing the violin. Such passion seemed to radiate from him. It was as if he understood the piece. It was as if he had become it.

A tear slipped from Christine's eye as she watched the man play and heard the divine music come forth from him and his violin. It was just as her father would have played it for her on those long winter nights when she missed her mother the most. It was his most prized piece – the piece Francine had made money off of when she sold it.

Christine felt an appropriate pinch of bitterness as the music reached its climax. That piece had been her mother's. Her father would not have wished it to be sold for profit like his others.

The music became gentle once more. It became divine, soft, and strong. Her father had told her that that was the part of the song where the tired souls were reborn in God in heaven.

Christine hadn't realized she was slowly walking into the room. By the time the music had ended she was less than ten feet away from the man. She softly gasped and jumped back as the man quickly turned around to face her.

"What are you doing here?" he said, quickly and dangerously. Christine's bright blue eyes opened wide at the anger in the man's face. She stepped back as he turned all the way around. At first glance, she could see he was tall and impeccably dressed. What spurred her curiosity the most was that he wore a white mask that covered his forehead and the right side of his face. Yet, even with this oddity on his person, Christine couldn't tear her eyes away from his golden ones. They seemed to be full of angry, golden sparks all aimed at her. It terrified her and at the same time entranced her. She had never seen such eyes.

"I asked you what you are doing here," the man repeated in a low, dark tone. The menace in his voice snapped her out of her trance.

"I…I heard the music…"

"And you thought that gave you the right to intrude upon a person's private property?" the man continued, taking slow steps toward her as she continued to back up. Christine could feel herself shaking. This man might be able to play like her father but he certainly was nothing like him.

"I…I just…" choked Christine, feeling a lump form in her throat. She wanted to run but her feet seemed incapable of doing anything but stepping backward.

"Do I already have curious little children sneaking around trying to catch a glimpse of me?" sneered the man, his lips curving into a smirk. "Rumors do fly quickly, don't they?"

"It wasn't that," cried Christine, feeling her back hit a wall. "It was that I heard the music and…"

"And do you like music, is that it?" laughed the man, cruelly. "Answer me! Do you like music?"

Christine nodded her head with her eyes full of fear.

"Well, of course you do!" exclaimed the man, only a few feet from her now. "Only those who truly love music would risk so much for it."

His words frightened her. She felt sweat form on her forehead and her knees tremble.

"I haven't heard it in awhile," cried out Christine, her eyes pleading with the man. "That's all. It's my father's piece and I haven't heard it since he died!"

The madness and anger seemed to fall from the man's eyes, causing them to become two clear, calm golden pools. He didn't speak for a moment, but stared at her curiously.

"You are a 'Daae'?" he asked, without his previous menacing tone.

"Yes!" cried Christine, softly. Her knees had finally stopped shaking but tears were still slipping from the corners of her eyes. "That piece was about my mother. He wrote it after her death."

"I know what it is about," said the man, turning from her and heading back toward his violin. Christine watched in awe as he gently took it up and placed it in its case. He handled it as though it were fragile child that could easily start to cry.

He sat himself down at the piano, gently running his hand over the keys. Christine slowly relaxed and dared to take a couple steps forward. She knew the best thing to do would be to run far away from the room and yet she couldn't bring herself to do so. This man held some sort of power over her and she knew he had not dismissed her yet.

"What were you doing here to begin with Mlle. Daae?" he asked, not looking up from his piano.

"I…I was delivering an invitation from my stepfamily," said Christine, softly. She looked toward the ground at the Persian carpet than back up at him. "They are holding a party and…"

"A party?" laughed the man, bitterly. He turned around to look at her. "Tell me, Mlle. Daae. Do I look like the type of man you would want at a party?"

Christine looked down at the carpet, unsure of what to say.

"My father would have liked you there," she said, suddenly, looking up at him. "You played his piece wonderfully."

The man looked back at the piano. He placedplayed his hands over the keys as if about to play.

"I was merely trying to give the piece some justice. Your father was a great musician by the looks of it, Mlle. Daae."

Christine found a small smile escape onto her face. "He tried to be."

"He succeeded," said the man, beginning to play the piano softly as to not drown her out. "I suppose you will have a lot to tell your stepfamily about this little visit, eh?"

Christine felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered Francine words and how she wanted her to play the part of her spy. Somehow, Christine believed it would be sinful to tell the Dawney's a single word about this mysterious man. No doubt if they got wind of it the whole town would know before nightfall the next day.

"I won't tell them anything," promised Christine.

The man just laughed, clearly not convinced. "Of course you will. It's why your family sent you in the first place."

There was no sense in arguing against the truth. Christine didn't reply and the strange man didn't bother to make other remark. The only thing that saved them from an awkward silence was his soft piano playing. As she listened to the playing, her eyes looked around the room. There were devices and fancy ornaments of all sorts, each one strangely beautiful to behold.

Her attention was refocused on the man when the music stopped abruptly and he turned to face her.

"You're still here?"

"Should I have left?" asked Christine, suddenly feeling very stupid and childish under his intense gaze.

"Had you any brains you would have left a long time ago."

Christine felt a blush gather up in her cheeks. This man did not know how to restrain his tongue at all.

"In that case I'll be going," said Christine, trying to gather up the very little of her dignity left. She turned to exit out of the room. Before shutting the door behind her, she turned back to look at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Monsieur."

The man's only reply was the soft piano playing.

* * *

A/N: Yes! Erik made his big debut! And don't worry, there is much more of him to come. ;-D Here is just some tidbits of info about the characters that I know you guys want to know: Christine is just about to turn 19 and she does have blonde hair and blue eyes. Erik is anywhere between 33 and 40. Place him where you like. Mme. Giry and Nadir are about the same age...somewhere between 45 and 50. When Meg enters the story she will be around 17.

Thank you for reading and please review!


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! Please keep them coming. I swear they help with the inspiration. Any constructive criticism is more than welcomed, by the way! I'm really glad you guys are liking the Cinderella elements. I wanted to do something new and original because so many plot lines are being overused and are getting boring.

I'm sorry if this chapter disappoints. It's shorter than my other ones but it's needed and to the point. I have the next one planned out and it's going to be long and enjoyable! So stay tuned for that one. (hint: E/C interaction) But I also hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well...so stop reading this and read the story! lol :-D

Thank you to my beta 'Timeless Rose'!

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Chapter 4

Christine crept through the backdoor, trying desperately not to be spotted by anyone. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach that if anyone discovered she had been gone for so long she would be in trouble. Francine would probably be cross with her for taking so long but would be merciful if Christine fed her enough information to satisfy her. It was Lucie she had to worry about. If she found out she had been neglecting her chores she would find herself without supper. Christine smiled to herself. If that was the case, Marthe would probably sneak her something when no one was watching.

"Oh! Christine!"

Christine turned around at the sound of her name. Nathalie came running up to her with a wide smile on her face. The first thing she noticed about her was that she was wearing a formal green dress that was much too fancy for normal day wear.

"Isn't it pretty?" said Nathalie, twirling around delightfully. "It's a surprise from Mama. I get to wear it to the party next week!" She giggled and looked down at the hem of the dress. "Only it's a little too long for me. Mama says you could fix it for me."

"I'll make sure I do that, Nathalie," said Christine, examining the bottom of the dress. At the very least it wasn't too long on her. It was a pretty dress, though. When she was younger, she used to ask her father for such formal dresses as the ones she saw the women wearing. Her father had just chuckled and promised to buy her beautiful dresses when she was old enough for them.

"Alice got a prettier dress, though," said Nathalie, frowning. She crossed her arms and her face began to pout. "She's been strutting around in it for an hour. She says my dress makes me look like a vegetable."

Christine laughed, shaking her head at the ridiculous nature of it all.

"You don't look like a vegetable," said Christine. "But you better take it off so I can hem it."

"I told her she looked like a lobster."

Christine burst out into laughter at the mere thought of her elder stepsister impersonating a lobster. Nathalie seemed to take amusement in her laughter and soon joined her.

"Brava, Nathalie, Brava," said Christine, after she had gained control of herself. She smiled at her stepsister and gave her a short pat on the shoulder. "Now go upstairs and change out of your dress."

Still giggling over their conversation, Nathalie ran up the stairs as fast as she could without tripping over her dress. Christine smiled. She was very grateful that her younger stepsister hadn't taken after the other members of the family. She may like riches, clothes, and food as much as the other two, but she didn't look down at the servants. It was probably a result of being the youngest and having difficulties in her studies. She wasn't as smart as her mother and her sister, but Christine had to admit the lobster joke was a work of genius.

Christine began to walk upstairs to take care of Nathalie's new dress. When she reached the stop of the staircase, she was greeted with an unfriendly sight. Francine was walking out of Nathalie's room at the end of the hall. She spotted Christine almost instantly and made her way toward her.

"Nathalie told me you finally decided to come home," she said, before Christine could make a dash in the other direction. "Does it really take nearly four hours to deliver a letter? Or did you get lost on the way?"

Christine brushed off her stepmother's words quickly.

"I was asked to do a favor by the head housekeeper," said Christine. "She needed help in town and I…"

"And you thought you weren't needed here," said Francine, shaking her head slowly. "Nathalie's dress has to be hemmed and Alice's needs to be taken in. The poor girl has seemed to have lost some weight."

"I have a week to fix them, ma'am."

Francine frowned. "Knowing you you'll forget. Best get it done now. Alice is waiting in her room."

Christine took a step around her, eager to get away. "I'll go and fix it then."

Francine's hand shot out and caught her by the sleeve.

"Do you have anything interesting to say, Chrissie?"

Christine cringed at the mention of her nickname. She only used it when she was trying to get her to do something or say something. Christine let out a sigh and repeated what she had rehearsed on the walk back to the Daae manor.

"The house was big and beautiful. Ours is nothing compare to it. The housekeeper is an older lady and is very strict but nice. The owner of the mansion is a very busy man who I didn't see on my little trip."

Francine didn't seem pleased. Christine winced as she began to squeeze her arm.

"You are telling me that you were gone for four hours and that is all you found out?"

Christine pulled away from her stepmother's grip and shot an angry look at her. She was repulsed and ashamed by her stepmother's need for gossip. Why! It would be down right cruel to tell her anything about the reclusive man she had seen.

"It wasn't as if I was scrutinizing the poor housekeeper for information," snapped Christine. "Next time you want someone to do your dirty work you can ask one of your own daughters."

Christine saw her stepmother's hand move upward a bit as if about to slap her. Francine shut her eyes tightly and took a deep breath.

"I want you to go downstairs and get the pile of clothes that need to be repaired. After you finish with Alice and Nathalie's dresses, you may go up to your room and fix each of those clothes. You are not allowed to leave your room till they are done."

Christine smirked, knowing very well that there weren't many articles of clothing that were in need of patching up.

"Of course, ma'am."

* * *

Christine walked quickly and quietly up the stairs to her attic bedroom. Making the dash upstairs at the end of the evening was one of her least favorite moments of the day. The trip up to the attic was still eerie no matter how many times she had done it. She always felt as if someone was watching her behind her back and something terrible would happen to her if she didn't look.

Upon entering her quaint room, Christine felt an easing sense of familiarity fill her. She took her candle and lit the ones she kept on the drawer and nightstand. Candles were the only source of light she had up in the attic. During her first year in her attic room, she would have given anything for a gas lamp. Yet as time past she had become accustomed to the soft allure of candlelight.

Christine knelt down near the windowsill where she had positioned a portrait of her father and mother. She lit the candle near the picture, watching as their motionless faces were illuminated by the light. She whispered a quiet prayer for them before turning her eyes to look out the window. What would her parents think about how she was being treated? She imagined her mother's face to be full of tears and for her father's to be stern and angry. Neither one she preferred. She hoped that one day her life would take a turn for the better so no one would have to suffer any more. Till that time came she had to be strong for her parents.

"Francine is holding a big dinner party," said Christine, looking at the picture of her parents. She usually spoke to them of her daily happenings and today was no exception. She rambled on about everything – Marthe's bad mood, her stepsisters' new dresses, her visit to the old Beaufort residence, and also about the strange man she had met. To anyone who randomly walked into the room, it would appear that she was talking to thin air. Yet, Christine couldn't help but feel that someone somewhere was listening to her and watching over her. It felt…nice.

"He seemed really angry at first," recalled Christine, thinking about the mysterious man. She chuckled slightly. "I think he might have hurt me if he hadn't found out I was a Daae. You would have liked him, Papa. He played your music so wonderfully."

Christine sighed, staring out the window into the dark, cloudy sky. She wondered why the man chose to wear a mask over most of his face. Perhaps he was really ugly – maybe even deformed. She knew society would be cruel to him if that was the case. It was a shame, really. Society could be so heartless.

But the way he played music… Christine was willing to wager that he could make any instrument and any song sound heaven sent. He had such a gift for the art. She longed to hear him play again but she knew the possibility that she would see him again was slim.

Christine stood up and got dressed into her simple, white nightgown. She blew out the candles before climbing into bed and under the covers. She pulled the covers up to her chin as darkness surrounded her. She had never out grown her fear of the dark.

She closed her eyes and tried to recall the man's gentle violin playing. She imagined her father across the hall in her parents' bedroom playing his heart out. She began to doze off to memories of nights where she fell asleep to the sound of the soft music.

* * *

Erik Richmond sat in a chair by the fireplace with the invitation in his hand. Normally, he wouldn't have even opened the envelope and read the contents inside of it. It would have immediately found its place besides the ashes and burning wood in the fireplace. He had no tolerance for parties and knew from the moment he received the letter he wouldn't be attending.

Why he had enough curiosity in the letter to not immediately throw it away was beyond him. He remembered Madame Giry's slightly hopeful look when she had given the letter to him. And how could he forget those forbidden words that snuck past her lips?

_Perhaps you should attend this one, Erik. It would do you some good and the Daae that delivered the invitation was very nice. You should give society another try. You can't hide away forever. _

He might not be able to hide away forever, but he was sure going to try. It wasn't as if he was a coward. He considered it more of a public service to keep the population blind to certain features on his person.

And the girl. She had dared to mention the noisy Daae girl. Erik chuckled to himself. That girl was probably very unaware that she was lucky to be alive!

"What do you have there?" asked a tall, tanned-skinned man, taking a seat in the chair opposite of Erik. Anyone could tell by the looks of him that he was foreign. Some even said that he had a wise look to his eyes. Erik just smirked at those comments. He wasn't willing to give Nadir that much credit.

"You just got in?" asked Erik, folding up the letter back into the envelope.

"I found a charming little inn with good food on my way back," chuckled Nadir, good-naturally. "What do you have there?" he repeated.

"Does my personal life concern you, daroga?"

Nadir laughed. "Erik, for the last couple of years you have had no personal life."

Erik scowled slightly, handing over the envelope to Nadir. He watched as the foreign man read the invitation; carefully observing the expressions on his dark face.

When he had finished, Nadir chuckled shortly before handing the letter back to Erik. "It comes with the house, Erik. The best thing to do is just to go so they can stop their wondering."

A frown crossed Erik's face. He stood up and walked over to the edge of the fireplace. He took one final look at the papers in his hand.

"They can keep on wondering. They might feel more…secure that way."

Without another word being spoken, Erik threw the invitation into the fire. Both he and Nadir watched it burn until all that was left of the paper was ashes.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: **I'm so sorry about the delay in the update! I've been very busy with exams coming up and everything. Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to update for awhile...say about 2 to 3 weeks. I have to get good grades on my exams which means study, study, study...

On the bright side, this chapter is on the long side and Erik is in it. Thank you everyone for all the great reviews! I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone by Erik not going to the party but don't worry. You'll see plenty of him and maybe there will be future parties ;-D.

Please read and review! **

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**Chapter 5**

"Don't miss a spot, Miss," said Adeline, from the other side of the parlor. "Ms. Dawney will murder us if she finds a single speck of dust."

"She'll die from a heart attack before that," said Christine, rolling her eyes. It was expected that a hostess would be nervous before the day of her party, but Francine had taken it to a new extreme. She had crossed her limits and was snapping at everyone. Something was always going wrong in her eyes. Something was even wrong in the rooms that Lucie declared clean. Alice and Nathalie were hiding up in their rooms to escape their mother's wrath. Unfortunately for Christine, she had been caught in the middle of it all day and it was only going to be worse tomorrow.

Adeline, a soft, timid young lady, was nearly jumping out of her skin. She was terrified of Francine and it was beyond Christine why she didn't find another place to work. In fact, she didn't know why anyone would want to put up with Francine. Even Marthe had told her she would have left a long time ago hadn't it been for Christine.

"That toad!"

Christine's and Adeline's heads shot up as Marthe came storming into the room. Her face was red and her eyes afire. It was no mystery who she was mad at.

"What if she heard you!" exclaimed Adeline, fearfully. Marthe just rolled her eyes.

"Then let her hear me!" she cried, pounding her fist on a cabinet that Adeline had just dusted. "She didn't like the cakes I'm baking for tomorrow so what does she do? She throws me out of the damn kitchen, that's what she does! Says that she only wants me back in there when I got a sense of taste! Well I'm sorry she doesn't like the cherry filling! She can just go and…"

"Then more cake for us," said Christine, grinning. No, it wasn't good to see Marthe angry, but it was amusing. Her hands flew in every direction and her mouth moved a mile a minute till she was out of breath.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Daae," scolded Marthe, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You won't be so amused when we are all cramming to get the food done tomorrow."

"Just sneak back inside the kitchen," said Christine, placing her dusting cloth down. "She's probably found something else new to fret over."

"I'm boycottin' the kitchen," said Marthe, stubbornly. "Just make her see how well the cooking comes out without me. She has Lucie doing it. That old hen can't cook to save her life. And that toad ain't gettin' away with calling me names. "

Christine laughed and Adeline even gave a small smile. That just made Marthe's face grow redder. She gave out a loud 'humph'.

"Well I was considering taking you to run an errand with me but I might change my mind."

The smile immediately dropped from Christine's face. To get out of this mad house would feel like a dream come true.

"You don't have to reconsider, Marthe," said Christine, as seriously as she could. "Where are you going to go?"

Marthe rolled her eyes and gave a mock curtsy.

"Madame has forgotten to get her dress from town," said Marthe, her voice abnormally high pitched and sweet. "It would be awful if she didn't have it by tonight for who knows what could have gone wrong with it."

Christine tried her hardest not to laugh. Marthe didn't quite have the figure to pull off a sweet, well mannered noble.

"I'd be more than happy to come with you Marthe," said Christine, hopefully. "Someone has to come with you to make sure you don't get yourself in trouble.

"Then we better get going," Marthe said, already turning around. "I don't want to be out to late. Goodness! It's already getting dark!" She let out a short laugh. "Maybe she'll feel sorry after we get murdered by bandits."

* * *

"33 Main Street, Joceline Louise's – Seamstress," said Christine, reading the sign from above the door of the two story building. Not a single light was on. "She must be asleep already." 

"Who goes to sleep on a Friday night at eight thirty, now-a-days," humped Marthe. "In the middle of town too! Besides, Francine said she'd be up. She promised she would send someone for the dress today."

Christine sighed and jumped out of the small wagon. She knocked at the door, loudly, hoping Joceline Louise or one of her assistants would hear her. It was far better to face a grumpy woman than to go back to Francine without her new dress.

She waited for a few minutes, periodically knocking on the door. Finally, she gave up and went back to the wagon.

"She's either sound asleep or out," said Christine, climbing into the wagon and taking her seat besides Marthe. "Either way we probably won't get the dress."

"Well that's what she gets for waiting too long," said Marthe, casually leaning back in the seat. "There's no point to goin' home without it." She raised her eyebrows at Christine's worried look. "Unless you want to go home and hear her scream and yell?

Christine shook her head. "I just don't like the idea of traveling home so late at night."

Marthe laughed bitterly. "Francine is far worse than anything you're going to meet goin' home. At least you can smack bandits."

Christine laughed. "She does deserve one."

"The day you get out of that place I'm planning on giving her one."

Christine smiled, amused at the thought of Marthe slapping Francine's smug face. It would do her some good.

They waited in front of the seamstress shop for ten minutes before Marthe got too bored to stand waiting any longer. Christine watched as she hopped out of the wagon and began to tie up the horses to the post.

"What are you doing?" asked Christine, from the front wagon seat. She had a bad feeling about this.

"I saw a tavern down the street a bit."

Christine's eyes widened. "You drink, Marthe?"

Marthe gave her an odd look. "I can only be a motherly influence for so long, Christine. I've messed up enough today so I might as well continue."

Christine continued to stare wide-eyed at Marthe. "You can't just waltz right into a tavern for a drink, Marthe! It's…!"

"It looked very respectable," protested Marthe, already making her way down the street.

Christine had a bad feeling that the tavern wouldn't be so respectable after Marthe got through with it. She didn't trust her in the mood she was in. Frustrated, stressed, and angry combined with the availability of a drink was not a good mix.

Reluctantly, Christine hopped out of the wagon and untied the horses. She drove the wagon closely behind Marthe – hoping she would gain some sense and agree to go back home. Regardless of Christine's hopes and pleas, Marthe entered the tavern with a rather confident stride.

Christine paid the small fee for the horses to be placed in the tavern's stable. After making sure everything was all set she went into the building to look for Marthe.

At the very least the tavern was respectable like Marthe said it would be. There were people, mostly men, sitting at the bar or at tables in groups. There was a man on the stage in the corner playing on his fiddle. A young lady, probably a paid performer, was just getting off the stage. In fact, the only thing that looked slightly suspicious was a group of men smoking and playing cards in a dark corner.

Christine spotted Marthe up at the bar, talking to the old bar tender. He was rubbing his chin, making Christine worried that Marthe's request was out of the ordinary for some odd reason.

By the time Christine had reached Marthe, the bar tender was gone. Reluctantly, Christine took a seat next to Marthe.

"I don't know what you are so worried about," said Marthe. "Like I said, it's a very respectable place. I even know one of the workers. His name's Adam Jetters. I knew his wife years ago. God rest her soul. Died way before her time, poor girl."

With this knowledge, Christine found herself relaxing a bit. She didn't know why she thought Marthe would lead them into a nasty tavern. She had heard stories about taverns full of drunken men and prostitutes. This one was nothing like that.

"And who is this lovely lady?" said the bar tender, placing a drink in front of Marthe. Adam Jetters was an older man with a kind face and smile. He reminded Christine of a grandfather- warm and welcoming.

"Oh! This is Christine," said Marthe, patting the young lady's shoulder. "And yes, she is quite the lovely lady. Her parents died when she was just a child and…"

Christine mind drifted away as Marthe retold her whole life story to her friend. Her eyes scanned the tavern for no one in particular. The tavern's customers were mostly lower middle class. She even recognized a couple of people from her trips in town.

"…She has quite the lovely singing voice, if I do say so myself. Sounds like an angel if angels really are that good."

Christine immediately snapped back into the conversation. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

"I'm really not that good," said Christine, humbly. "Even if I was, I haven't sung in years."

Adam Jetters chuckled. "Well, by the way Marthe makes it sound your voice is excellent. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Christine knew arguing wouldn't do her any good. She remained quiet until Marthe said something that made her blood run cold.

"She would probably give you the best darn performance you'd ever had, if you'll let her. Bring the crowds in from the streets, I bet."

"Marthe!" protested Christine, having a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Marthe, watch what you're getting me into!"

Marthe just chuckled. "Oh, Christine! I would love to hear your voice again. I'm sure everyone else would too." She leaned toward Christine and jokingly whispered to her. "It'll bring in some money, too."

Christine shook her head. She could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest. On the life of her, she wouldn't get up on any stage in public.

"I don't think anyone would mind at all," said Adam Jetters, kindly. He laughed. "We had some bad talent up there only yesterday. Anything we put up there now will seem heaven sent."

Marthe gave Christine a small, playful push. "It can't hurt, Christine. Anyone starts booing and I'll give them a good slap for you. I guarantee I will."

Christine's face paled as Marthe literally pushed her off her seat. She turned around with a pleading look on her face.

"You can't be serious, Marthe! I haven't sung in ages!"

"I heard you singing to yourself only a couple of weeks ago. It sounded lovely."

"Marthe!"

Marthe put a stubborn look on her face and she crossed her arms. "You'll thank me for this one day. I'm just as eager as you to get away from the Dawney's. Every little bit counts you know."

Christine just remained frozen in her spot. She glanced hesitantly up at the stage where the fiddler was just finishing up his song. What would happen if she did go up there and sing? Perhaps if she sang quietly no one would hear her. She could sing something short and simple. Something everyone knew and loved. Something people would have heard countless times by people that were terrible singers.

Christine was surprised by her inner struggle. She should be completely set against singing. But there was a part of her that was yearning to get up there and let the world hear her voice. She still wanted her music back.

"I'll kill you if this comes out terribly, Marthe," said Christine, before walking toward the small stage. From behind her, she heard Adam Jetters shout.

"Don't worry! I'll give you something on the house for singing!"

As Christine stepped onto the stage platform her knees began to tremble. Inwardly cursing, she walked to the fiddler. She put in her request – a simple folksong. Almost everyone knew it and everyone loved it.

Christine took a step toward the front of the platform. She was afraid something would go wrong. She was afraid she would let out a croak. She was afraid she would be too quiet. She was afraid she'd be too loud. She was afraid she'd forget how to sing!

The fiddler gave her a nod and began to play. Christine stood there, feeling very foolish. At the very least she should have warmed up before plunging right into this! How foolish of her!

_I walk so very far from home,_

_Foreign places where I must roam,_

She had started out soft and quiet. Her knees were shaking and her lips were trying to tremble. She tried in vain to make the stop. She wished she wasn't doing this.

But at least it didn't sound terrible.

Few people had been looking at her to begin with. Most acknowledged her presence on the stage then turned back to their conversations and drinks. But as she continued through to the chorus, louder and stronger, more and more heads began to turn her way.

No one was booing. No one even looked horrified!

With new found confidence, Christine sang into the second verse. When she made mistakes only a few people seemed to care. She only saw a couple of people wince at an error in the song. They might be bothered by her mistakes but they weren't by her voice!

When the song ended, Christine was smiling from ear to ear. She exited the stage to a polite applause. Years ago she would have been embarrassed by her numerous mistakes. Now, she couldn't care less. It felt wonderful to have people approve of her voice and even more wonderful to sing!

"See I knew you could do it, Christine," said Marthe, beaming at Christine as she walked back to the bar. She gave Christine a playful slap on the back. "You just have to have a little confidence in yourself. You sang a lot better than a lot of people I know." She turned to Adam Jetters. "What did I tell ya?"

Adam Jetters smiled and handed Christine a couple of coins. "Beautiful voice, Miss Daae."

Christine smiled and pocketed the money. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it," said the older man, tilting his head a bit.

Marthe smiled at Christine before turning back to Adam Jetters.

"Now about that something free on the house?"

Christine chuckled and shook her head, pitying poor Adam. She got up from her seat and lightly touched Marthe's arm.

"Just use it to pay for the drink, Marthe. We got to go anyway. I'll get the horses out of the stable."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marthe, frustrated, as Christine began to walk toward the exit. "That toad should start getting her own dresses."

Christine giggled, shaking her head. She loved Marthe, she really did, but she didn't know what to expect from her.

"You sing, Mademoiselle Daae?"

Christine's head shot up and her eyes met with a dark-clothed man near the exit of the tavern. Her eyes widen just a bit with recognition. She stared at his face; part of it covered with a flesh-colored mask.

"Something on my face that fascinates you, Mademoiselle Daae?"

"Oh! Monsieur Richmond," addressed Christine, feeling her cheeks burn up to be caught staring at him. "I'm apologize. It's just that you don't seem like the type of person to be in a tavern." Christine realized her mistake before he got a chance to mention it. Before he could say anything she made up an excuse. "You don't see nobles here."

"Then might I inquire as to what you are doing here?" he asked, smirking slightly. His dark form seemed more intimidating with each word spoken from his lips. "You are of noble birth, aren't you?"

Christine's face fell and she shifted uncomfortably. He had to trap her in this corner.

"Yes, Monsieur. I was in town helping my friend to get my stepmother's dress. We ended up in here."

"I see," said M. Richmond, frowning. Christine bit her lip. She really didn't want to explain to him why she was a servant in her own house. The less people that knew, the better.

'Was singing on the agenda as well?"

Christine shook her head, glad he hadn't pressed the situation further. "I was sort of forced into that."

He continued to stare at her with his harsh golden eyes. They seemed to be scrutinizing her and Christine didn't like it.

"Clearly. Your voice was nowhere near ready to perform anything."

Christine winced at his insult. Any cheerfulness she had pervious felt was now drained from her body. Of course, a man with his knowledge of music would disapprove of her performance, but he made it seem like she had committed a crime!

"I haven't sung in years, monsieur."

This he clearly frowned at.

"It's a pity. Your voice is quite good."

Christine's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "You just said I sounded terrible."

"There is a difference in how well a voice sounds and how well one can sing, Mademoiselle," said M. Richmond. He hesitated for a moment, as if wondering how to word what he wanted to say. When he spoke it sounded awkward. It was as if he wasn't used to talking at all. "While you sang awfully your voice is worthy of praise."

His words gave her some hope back and she forgot his curious awkwardness. She felt proud to be the owner of a nice voice. Not everyone could claim that. She smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Monsieur."

M. Richmond sneered at her. "That is nothing to be smiling about, Mademoiselle. You can't see something beautiful if it is covered up with a blanket, can you?"

Christine shook her head, feeling too stupid to speak. She felt inferior and childish against him once more. He spoke as if it were a crime to perform badly on a stage, no matter how much natural talent one had.

Christine glared up at him. She didn't perform too badly! She was lucky she sounded half as good as she did! M. Richmond chose to ignore her glares and continue.

"Then one can not appreciate your voice if you can not sing. You've been foolish to let your voice go to waste."

Christine hated his words. She had a reason to sound as terrible as she did! She glared up at him. She wouldn't take his insults.

"I haven't had the opportunity to sing in many, many years. You have no right to call me foolish."

He waved his hand as if brushing off her words. Christine was very aware that he took a step closer to her. For a moment, when he spoke, she could see passion burn in his golden eyes like fire. They seemed so alive yet so very frightening.

"Do you wish to sing, Mademoiselle Daae? Sing on a stage for the world to hear?"

The skin on Christine's forehead furrowed deeply in a look of pure confusion. Would he mock her even more if she said 'yes'? Would he laugh at her and tell her she had no chance?

"Once," answered Christine, carefully. "When I was a little girl."

"And now?" asked M. Richmond, coolly but with a tilt of desperation. "You still wish it?" He waited for her to answer. When she failed to give one, he chuckled. "Mademoiselle Daae, your voice could be great! You could bring the world to your feet! I will not stand by and watch precious talent wither away on petty performances in a tavern."

Christine was too stunned to speak. If she could speak she wouldn't know what to say. Was her voice really that good? Her father had once told her that she would one day be a great Prima Donna at the finest of all opera houses. Being a child, she had believed him eagerly. But now, many years later, this stranger she barely knew was telling her the same? It was impossible – a dream that would never come true.

"I…I can't Monsieur Richmond," stuttered Christine. "You wouldn't understand, but my situation…I can't sing! I could never have the money or the voice teacher or…"

A smirk crossed M. Richmond's face. "I would never trust your voice in any hands other than my own. To think if they ruined it!"

Christine felt her heart race in her chest. Did he offer to be her voice teacher? But just as quickly as her excitement came it left. Sadness and doubt replaced it.

"I couldn't, Monsieur. I don't have the money…"

"Free of charge, of course," he countered, quickly. "But I expect you to be on time for each lesson. No exceptions. While in lessons you will do everything I tell you and you will do it perfectly. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, Monsieur. But…"

"Good. Then our first lesson will be tomorrow at seven. You will not be a moment late. Understand?"

"Yes."

M. Richmond seemed to relax slightly. He attempted to smile at her, but he only succeeded in looking awkward. Instead, his face resumed its initial coldness. Christine found it almost sad that that was what he was most comfortable with.

He tilted his hat toward her. "Till seven then, Mademoiselle."

Christine just nodded and watched his retreating figure exit out of the tavern in a hurry. She marveled at what just happened to her. Then it hit her that she had just agreed for voice lessons from the same man who seemed ready to kill her when she intruded upon his room. But that wasn't the same man who played the violin so wonderfully. It wasn't the man who had oddly asked her if he could teach her.

Christine sighed to herself and began to make her way toward the stables. Maybe everything would turn out alright. Maybe this strange man could make her voice sound as divine as the instruments he played.

* * *

A/N: (Dramatic tone) Will Francine get her dress? How will the first lesson go? Will Christine go at all? And why was Erik in the tavern? (End dramatic tone) :-P 

I'm sure many of you are wondering why Erik was in the tavern. That is probably going to be cleared up in the next chapter which I hope you all will come back for!

Please review!


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello! Thank you for all the reviews, everyone! This chapter is devoted to their first lesson together which proves to be...well i'll let you read it. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 6**

It was crazy. The idea was idiotic. The really foolish part was that Christine had every intention of going through with it. Her mind was made up. She was going to appear at Monsieur Richmond's doorstep at exactly seven that very evening.

She had thought about it all day. There were countless things that could go wrong. What if she was caught trying to sneak out or back in? What if Monsieur Richmond decided that her voice was not worth the time or effort after all? What if his intentions were not honorable?

But hearing Francine scream at the servants hour after hour made up Christine's mind for her. She didn't want to be stuck in that sort of life. She didn't want to wait on her stepfamily till she turned grey, or get married off to an old man just for the sake of connections and wealth. She was going to take a chance just like her father would have wanted her too.

She had told no one of the lesson, not even Marthe. It wasn't as if they had the time to listen either. Marthe had finally been allowed back into the kitchen and everyone was cooking up a storm. Christine was pulled away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen to help her stepmother with her new dress. They had retrieved it last night, after the bar incident. Francine was appalled to see that it was too big on her. For 30 minutes, Christine had to listen to her complain about the seamstress seeing her as "fat". It took all of her self-control not to punch her stepmother in the face. She would save that for Marthe when they finally were free of the Dawneys.

Alice was nearly as intolerable as her mother. She spent the day squawking about how she couldn't find her slippers or her stockings; both of which were found under her bed. Even Nathalie seemed apprehensive for the big night.

When the guests started to arrive at six, Christine was ordered up to her bedroom by none other than her stepmother. Christine believed she would never forget the look of pure annoyance on Francine's face as she spoke to her.

"I don't want anyone, not even one of the servants, to see you all night. If I so much as see a strand of your hair, you'll be spending the next couple of nights out in the streets." Under her breath she added. "Not as if you don't deserve it."

Normally, Christine would have argued, but she had plans for the night that did not involve her room or her stepmother's threats. She obediently ran upstairs and threw open her small wardrobe.

She once had dozens and dozens of pretty dresses and little shoes to wear. It appeared to be quite the opposite now. Christine diligently searched through her cabinet, looking for something respectable to wear to her voice lesson. If Monsieur Richmond still believed her to be a noble, it would be odd for her to show up in a servant's garb.

Christine settled on the same dress she wore the first time she visited the manor. She brushed out her hair and tied it in a cheap blue ribbon one of the servants had given her. She had no mirror to look into, not even a hand one. She remembered asking Francine for one when she was much younger. Her stepmother had just laughed and asked what an ugly girl like her would do with a mirror.

Getting out of the house wasn't difficult at all. All the guests were either in the ballroom or in the dining room where appetizers were being served. The servants were shuffling around from the dinning room to the kitchen. Still very cautiously, Christine snuck out the backdoor and out into the fields.

She knew what was happening to her and yet she couldn't believe it. It seemed entirely unrealistic that someone would like to teach her to sing. Especially someone as reclusive as Monsieur Richmond. It seemed almost too good to be true.

* * *

Monsieur Richmond paced back and forth in his music room. Every once and awhile he would steal a glance at the clock. It counted down the hours and the minutes for him. Now, there were only ten minutes left till _she_ came. 

Monsieur Richmond sat down on the piano bench, drumming his long fingers against the polished wood. He couldn't remember ever being so impatient. She was likely not to come anyway. What kind of girl allowed herself to be taught by a stranger – nevertheless by him!

But that voice…that voice that she had brought forth from her lips. It had so much potential that it nearly had made him cry out in longing! He knew he needed to teach her, and foster her voice to greatness. He could turn it into a voice that could make angels weep and turn sirens green with envy.

Hearing her at the tavern had been a pure coincidence. A wonderful act of fate. He couldn't bear the thought of that voice going untrained. As she sung, he had cursed the girl for not realizing her own potential and almost ruining her chance for greatness.

He couldn't let that happen; not after he had discovered her.

He had been at the tavern that night to sell the mansion to a potential buyer. Town-life was far too nosey for his liking and he damned the daroga for even suggesting it. The buyer seemed really excited about the sale. After all, the mansion was worth every penny of the outrageous sum it cost.

The deal had almost been cast in stone when _her_ voice entered into his ears. That angelic voice hidden in a layer of mistakes and inexperience. M. Richmond had stopped short of completing his sentence to the potential buyer and turned his attention toward the young lady on stage. His golden eyes widened when he recognized her as the young noble lady that had snuck into his music room. He recalled her gentle appreciation for music.

At that moment he knew he couldn't seal the deal that would separate him from _that_ voice.

M. Richmond glanced up at the clock. Two minutes. He turned his attention toward the piano keys and began to play to calm his nerves. He ordered himself not to become too hopeful. She wouldn't come. He had frightened her one too many times for her to trust him for a moment. He sneered. His face certainly wouldn't help the matter.

Five minutes passed until M. Richmond distantly heard the soft squeak of the door over the piano playing.

"M. Richmond," addressed Mme. Giry's voice. "Mlle. Daae is here."

* * *

He was playing again. 

Christine didn't pay any attention to Mme. Giry's introduction. Her eyes were completely focused on the back of the man creating the beautiful piano music. It had been so long since it had graced her ears. How strange it seemed, that while her life was deprived of all music, his life seemed to be full of it.

He stopped playing, never turning around to look at them.

"Very well," M. Richmond said, his voice more melodious than she remembered. It was like silk; rich, deep, and seductive. "You may leave us Mme. Giry."

Christine felt Mme. Giry place a gentle hand on her back and encourage her to step into the room. After she did so, she heard the door quietly shut behind her. She was alone.

Alone with _him_.

Christine remained rooted to the ground, not knowing if she should be the first to speak. To her relief, M. Richmond stood up and turned to face her. For the first time, Christine seemed to realize the intensity of the man's presence. She had never realized how tall he was. His thin figure did nothing to take away from the authority he seemed to command. The right side of his face was still covered with a mask. This time it was the white, porcelain one that appeared to contrast his dark evening suit.

There was no sign of cheerfulness on his face. His eyes were not welcoming. They seemed to be looking over her and judging her.

"I'm surprised you came," M. Richmond said, breaking the awkward silence between them. He chuckled at his own private joke. "Then again you have proven to be a bit foolish at times."

His words made Christine go cold all over. Was he implying that his intentions were, in fact, not honorable? Christine glanced hastily at the door, hoping to be able to escape if it were necessary.

M. Richmond seemed to notice her uncertainty but choose not to point it out. He motioned for her to come to the piano.

"So tell me, Mlle. Daae," he said, as she hesitantly walked toward him and the piano. "What inspired you to give that little performance last night?"

"I…" started Christine, nervously. "My friends wanted me too."

The answer seemed enough for him. He sat down at the piano bench and placed his fingers over the keys. "And what made you come here tonight?"

Christine remained silent for a moment. She debated on whether or not to tell him the truth.

"I want music back in my life again," said Christine, quietly. "I…I love to sing but I haven't in awhile."

"And why is that, Mlle.?"

Christine shifted uncomfortably.

"My stepfamily does not like music."

M. Richmond clearly frowned at this. He just shook his head and played a chord on the piano.

"Mlle. Daae. While we have these lessons I expect you to follow all the rules completely. Are you listening very closely?"

Christine just nodded, wondering what she just gotten herself into. M. Richmond eyed her closely and continued.

"You will be on time for all the lessons. You will do only what I say and anything that I say. You will practice in-between lessons." He looked up at her. His cold eyes seemed defensive and the uncovered side of his face was tight and straight. "And you will not, under any circumstances, touch anything that I forbid you to. Specifically this." He motioned toward the mask on his face. "If you do the results would be disastrous. Do I make myself clear?"

His tone made her shrink back slightly. She nodded eagerly. Satisfied, he turned back toward the piano.

"Good. Now let's see where you are."

The lessons lasted for an hour and a half. There was very little communication between the two of them. He told her what to do and she did it to the best of her ability. But her best was clearly not enough for her odd, new teacher.

The first thing he had done was fix her posture and then they plunged into warm-ups. Christine noticed that he stayed clear of the high notes but chose to focus on her middle and low range. Christine didn't question him. She knew that would be highly unwise.

M. Richmond proved himself to be a tough teacher within their first lesson. So tough that Christine wondered if she had made the better of two decisions. Yes, his intent was to improve her singing. Why he wanted to was beyond her. Throughout the lesson, he gave no hint as to why her voice was special to him.

He just told her what to do and she obediently did it.

They tried sight-reading, which proved to be nothing short of a disaster. It was clear that M. Richmond was getting more frustrated with each note that she didn't hit.

"You've killed all your potential by remaining silent," he snapped at her, after she struggled through trying to match singing the notes that he played on the piano. "You mean to tell me you haven't listened to music as well?"

Christine shook her head, wishing the lesson to be done and over with. M. Richmond seemed ready to burst out into angry shouts. Yet all he did was tighten his hands into fists and release them.

"I think that is enough for today, Mlle. Daae," he said, sighing slightly at the nearly hopeless situation that presented itself to them. "You must understand I am not angry at you and this lesson. What irritates me is your lack of experience. Come back tomorrow at seven if you so choose."

Christine was startled that he still wished to give her lessons after their horrific experience today. She, herself, wasn't sure if she was going to come back and give it another try. Singing seemed like an impossible dream for her. It wasn't meant to be.

But just in case…

"I wouldn't be able to come at seven," said Christine. "I…My family…"

Her voice grew quieter still it died. Her teacher looked at her oddly, as if he too was surprised that she was willing to go on.

"Is there a time you prefer, Mlle?" he asked. He chuckled. "Pick a time and I assure you I will be free."

Christine caught the hint that he had normally had no one to see and nothing to do. She found it sad but didn't dwell on it.

"Perhaps at two?" suggested Christine. No one would miss her at two. Alice and Nathalie would be busy with their lessons and Francine would be out socializing. It was right after lunch and dinner wasn't for another couple of hours. She would be able to sneak out.

"If that is what you desire," said M. Richmond. He walked with her to the music room door to show her out. Christine couldn't help but notice the graceful way he seemed to move. She got so caught up with watching him walk that she didn't notice his golden eyes on her.

"Until tomorrow, Mlle. Daae," he said, opening the door for her. Before she was completely out of the room she turned back to him.

"It's Christine," she said, smiling slightly. She didn't like being called Mlle. Daae. Perhaps if he addressed her a little more informally the awkwardness and coldness between them would melt away.

"Christine," he said, nodding. For a brief second, Christine thought he was going to smile at her. To her disappointment he gave her a terse farewell and shut the door on her.

Perhaps the coldness was going to stay after all.

* * *

A/N: Yes, Erik is very stiff and awkward in this chapter. Prehaps he will loosen up a bit by the next? (wink) (And I'm getting sick of calling him Monsieur Richmond, so maybe something a bit ice-breaking will happen soon...) 

I've been brainstorming about this fic. I sort of know the direction I want it to take and I know a couple of scenes I want to include. But I'm open for ideas! So if you have an idea that you would like to see then I'm open to hear it. You can keep on suggesting throughout the story, if you so choose.

Please review! As I've said it helps alot and it gives me an idea of what you guys want to see so I can work it in. Thank you!

By the way, I posted a cute, little one-shot. So if you want to check that out feel free too.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello! Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews! I took something from the disney version without planning too. But I'll just point out that it has a bit of disney in it...even through I'm trying to write with an 'Ever After' atmosphere in mind. But it's good to know that this fic sort of reminds you of that movie.

Thank you to my beta reader, Timeless Rose!

Enjoy! And don't forget to review :-D

* * *

**Chapter 7 **

"Marthe?" asked Christine, looking up from her sweeping. Her voice lesson and her odd teacher were plaguing her mind. The next lesson was only a few hours away and she still wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to attend. "What do you say to someone who is cold and distant?"

Marthe looked at her oddly from the kitchen sink.

"Well, I suppose it depends on the person. It's always easier if they are a drinker."

Christine smiled slightly at Marthe's humor. She suspected that Marthe knew something was troubling her. She had saved a pastry for Christine's breakfast this morning. Christine wasn't sure if Marthe thought she was depressed over being sent to her room yesterday or if something else was troubling her mind. Either way, both the pastry and Marthe's good humor had brightened up her day.

"I highly doubt that would work on him," said Christine, looking down at the pile of dust her broom had gathered.

"Oh! So it's a 'him'!" exclaimed Marthe, delightfully clapping her hands together. Christine looked up, quite startled, as Marthe's wet hands grasped her shoulders.

"Now, I knew something was on your mind," she exclaimed, in a very matter of fact tone. "And I knew it must be someone I don't know! Because you would have told me or that someone would have! And I know all the old people in town, so it must be a young'n. So tell me, Christine! What's he like? Oh! I can be a matchmaker again! Why, when I was young, my best friend fell madly in love with this one man. I got him to notice her, I did!"

A blush burned its way to Christine's cheeks. If only Marthe knew what she was saying! The thought was too embarrassing to even think of. To imagine what Marthe would think if she knew she suggesting that Christine was infatuated with _him_! With dark, reclusive, masked Monsieur Richmond. The idea was absurd!

"It's not like that, Marthe," said Christine, desperately trying to cover up her previous mistake. "He…He's just a man I met. And it was very hard to talk to him."

Marthe eyed her strangely. "That's not all of it." She held up her finger as if scolding her. "I'd know that look in anyone eyes. You're hidin' something."

Christine felt the blush leave her cheeks to be replaced with a coldpale, white look. She shook her head, gripping her broom tightly.

"It's nothing," reassured Christine, looking down at the ground so her eyes would not betray her again.

Marthe released her. "Just the same, you can talk to me about everything and you'll know I'll keep it a secret. There's no one in this house worth telling anyway."

Christine forced a smile on her face. Somehow, she found that very unlikely. Marthe's mouth could move as fast as a galloping horse.

Christine was just about to bend down to pick up the dust pan when a loud shriek sounded through the air. Marthe and she both looked up at the same time.

"Something has to go wrong everyday," mumbled Marthe, throwing the dish towel forcefully to the side. Christine trotted behind Marthe as she climbed the stairs to the source of the sound. Two servants were already standing in the doorway leading to none other than Nathalie's room.

Christine peeked into the room behind the other servants' backs. What she saw was a rather funny sight for her, through certainly not for the Dawney's. Nathalie was standing on her bed, and gripping one of the posts for her dear life. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her knees were shaking. Right below her was her breakfast tray and scattered pieces of a tea cup on the carpet. Francine and Alice were busy watching as a manservant knelt on the floor to get a look under the bed.

"I think I see it there, Ma'am," he said, looking back up. "Someone go get Marius and we'll catch him in just a couple of minutes."

Francine nodded. She looked quite a bit shaken up herself.

"See that you do." She looked at her younger daughter. "Come down from there, Nathalie. Look at the scene you created! That little thing isn't going to harm you."

"But mama!" cried Nathalie, daring to open her eyes for a moment. "I hate rats!"

"For heaven's sake, Nathalie!" said Alice, looking very bored. "It was a mouse."

"They both are scary!" protested Nathalie, showing no signs of moving from her spot. She glared at Alice and pointed her finger at her. "Of course you would know the difference! You put it there!"

Alice's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Why would I even touch that filthy creature?"

Nathalie held back a sob. "Because…Because you are jealous that Sir Michel danced with me three times last night and only twice with you!"

Christine let out a loud groan that attracted the attention of the nearby servants. So all of this was an issue of sisterly jealousy?

Alice rolled her eyes. "I never cared! Sir Michel isn't even very handsome!"

Nathalie sniffed. "Yes, he is! You said so yourself!"

Francine had clearly had quite enough of it. She pulled Nathalie down from the bed and pushed both of her girls out of the room. All the servants stepped aside as they walked through the doorway.

"I don't care about Sir Michel at the moment, girls," she said. "All I want to know is who had the foolish idea of putting a mouse under that teacup."

Christine went cold all over as Alice looked at her. A smirk made its way to her face for a brief moment before she turned back to her mother.

"I saw Christine tampering with the trays," said Alice, trying her best to look innocent. Christine froze as her stepmother sent a cold glare her way. How could she even believe her?

"It wasn't me, Ma'am!" protested Christine. She knew she had no hope against Alice but she had to say something in her defense!

"Yes, it wasn't Christine," agreed Nathalie. "She wouldn't do that to me. She would do that to Alice before she ever did that to me."

Christine never liked Nathalie so much before.

"Quiet, Nathalie," snapped Francine. Nathalie instantly fell silent. Francine continued to glare with her with the same icy coolness. "You should learn this now, Nathalie. Daaes always had problems with loyalties."

Christine frowned. What was that supposed to mean? She had an idea, but to speak her mind would bring her closer to the streets than ever before.

"Ma'am, Christine was with me the whole morning," said Marthe, putting her arm around Christine. "I'm always keeping an eye on this one and never have I seen her doing anything she shouldn't be doing."

Francine clearly frowned at this. "Well you better keep a closer eye on that rat, Marthe." She smirked at Christine. Christine sent a cold glare her way. It was a promise that one day she would be able to fight back. Francine just merely chuckled. "Next time she'll find herself out in the streets." She turned to her daughters. Alice was nearly gloating with victory. Nathalie, on the other hand, was still very nervous and shaken. "Come, girls. You have lessons to attend."

The servants watched as the Dawneys made their way down the grand stairway. It was always funny to watch the way they walked, especially after giving an order to the servants.

Marthe clapped her hands together and started to shoo everyone away.

"Well everyone get back to work. You make sure you catch that mouse, Henri. If I see it in my kitchen it will be your neck to pay!"

Christine sighed and started down the stairs to continue her work in the kitchen. Before she reached the top step, Marthe stopped her.

"Don't let that old hag get to you," said Marthe, pulling Christine into a tight hug. "Everyone knows it wasn't you."

Christine broke the hug and gave Marthe an assuring smile.

"I know that," said Christine, starting down the stairs with Marthe right beside her. "I'd just like to know what my father ever saw in her."

"Oh, I'm sure she was as sweet as sugar when they were courting," said Marthe. "But I knew all along, I did. I tried to warn your father but he wouldn't listen." She let out a 'humph'. "Saw past that mask all along. I think we all wish your father did too."

* * *

Christine practically ran up the lane leading to her voice teacher's mansion. Around her the rain seemed to change from a pleasant drizzle to a downpour within a matter of seconds. Christine cursed the rain and her dress for slowing down her run. She couldn't think of a worse way to come to her second lesson. Wet and late. 

Christine pulled down on the doorbell and waited for Mme. Giry to greet her. At least the front steps were covered and she wasn't getting wet anymore.

To her surprise, it wasn't Mme. Giry who answered the door, through that was certainly who she would have preferred too. Monsieur Richmond stood on the other side of the doorway. He was looking upon her wet state with slight amusement.

"You're late."

Christine tried to smile, but it quickly died when M. Richmond glared coldly at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. She hoped that if he was going to cancel the lesson she would at least be allowed to stay until the rain let up. "I couldn't leave home as quickly as I wanted to and the rain…"

Her sentence died as M. Richmond stepped aside to allow her in. Hesitantly, she entered in the mansion. She felt rather out of place in her simple, wet clothing. She hadn't been able to change into something nicer, but she was fully ready to make up an excuse for M. Richmond if need be.

"Where's Mme. Giry?" asked Christine, as M. Richmond shut the door behind her.

"Visiting her daughter," he askedreplied. Surprisingly, he began to walk toward the kitchen and not upstairs into the music room. When Christine did not follow, he turned around to look at her.

"Mme. Giry keeps some of her daughter's clothes here for when she comes to visit," explained M. Richmond. "Her clothes should fit you. It won't do to have you ruining all the furniture."

Christine blushed, but eagerly followed M. Richmond down the halls into a room slightly past the kitchen. It was a simple room with a bed, a wardrobe, and a couple of cabinets. M. Richmond pointed to a trunk on the ground.

"They might be in there. I don't think she would unpack them. If not, check the closet. Come to the music room when you are ready."

Christine nodded. After the door closed behind her, she made her way to the trunk. The clothes in there certainly seemed to belong to Mme. Giry's daughter. They were of a younger fashion and seemed to fit Christine's slender frame. She chose the simplest one in the trunk to wear. After removing her wet clothes, she tried on the dress she had chosen. To her surprise, it was a bit snug, but it fit.

Christine placed her wet clothes in the kitchen to dry and made her way up to the music room. Butterflies popped into her stomach as she stepped into the music room and took her place by the piano.

"Let's hope we can accomplish something this time," said M. Richmond, with no hint of humor in his voice. Christine forced a small, shy smile to her face. She remembered the proper posture and quickly resumed. She couldn't help but feel a small bit of pride when M. Richmond looked up and didn't say anything. She had a feeling that that would be the closest thing she would get to a compliment from him for a long time.

The lesson was much more productive than last time. Unlike their previous lesson, which had been full of frustration and bitterness, this one flowed smoothly. M. Richmond challenged her, but Christine felt that she could obtain his goals. So much knowledge from her childhood lessons with her father resurfaced. She remembered how to breathe properly and she became more comfortable with her posture. The scales seemed to come more naturally, and while her solfege syllables were hesitant, she hadn't forgotten them.

It seemed that both teacher and student were much more prepared for the lesson.

The lesson ended with a loud crack of lightening, followed closely by thunder. Throughout the hour and a half, the sky had been rumbling at a distance and gradually drawing closer. BHowever, the ut the latest rumble had been too great to ignore. M. Richmond shook his head in frustration.

"I suppose that ends it," he said, flipping down the lid of the piano. "Tomorrow at the same time?"

Christine nodded, hoping that Marthe would take the same excuse two days in a row. She hadn't lied to Marthe when she said she was going to visit the cold, distinct man. She just hadn't been telling the truth.

One day Christine would tell her. Whether it was by her own choice or by force was still undecided.

"You can stay until the rain lets up," said M. Richmond, glancing out the window at the stormy sky. "I'll be in the library if you need me - through I very much doubt it."

Christine couldn't let it end like that. She knew the coldness between them needed to stop. If he was serious about the voice lessons there needed to be a comfortable level of communication between them. If he wasn't going to spur it on, she might as well.

"Would you like me to make you some tea?" said Christine, a bit desperately. Having seen Mme. Giry prepare it before, she knew he drank tea in the afternoon. "I know how you like it." A blush rose to Christine's face. How awkward that must have sounded! "I…I mean…I've seen Mme. Giry make it before."

M. Richmond looked at her oddly. Christine could only imagine the thoughts running through his head. A noble making tea? At a house that was not hers?

"That would be…nice," he replied, nearly as awkwardly. "The library is just three doors down on your right."

Christine smiled, glad she didn't have to face the embarrassment of him refusing. She hurried down to the kitchen and began to prepare the tea. She was glad for the rain. It kept her from having to go home and it gave her a perfect chance to earn her new teacher's trust and friendship… or at least she could start to earn it.

Christine placed two cups of steaming hot tea on a tray to carry upstairs. Careful not to spill, she made her way through the halls and up the stairs. It was odd not to hear music playing as she passed the music room. It was the only time when she got to hear him play a real piece.

A gasp escaped Christine when she entered the library. The room was rectangular, with large windows covered with drapes and a fireplace. But all around them were books! The bookshelves were built into the walls and extended half way up it. The selves were cramped with what seemed like thousands and thousands of books. Christine enjoyed reading but certainly wouldn't call it her favorite pastime. Yet still the room amazed her.

"Are they all yours?" asked Christine, placing the tray next to the chair M. Richmond was sitting in. He was reading a book, but Christine dared not look down to and see which one it was.

"They are now," he replied, taking his cup of tea. "Most of them came with the house. M. Beaufort had quite an impressive collection. Of course, some of them were originally mine."

Christine continued to glance around at the numerous books that lined the selves.

"Do you mind if I looked?"

M. Richmond didn't look up from his book. "Suit e yourself."

Christine took his invitation gladly. She walked by the selves, taking note of the titles of the books as she strolled by. Most of the titles she had never heard of before.

She came upon a section that was devoted completely to architecture and then another devoted to various countries around the world.

What shocked her the most about the library was that some of the books were written in different languages. German, English, Italian, and even some she couldn't even place!

"Do you really understand all of these books?" said Christine, mostly to herself, as she flipped through an architecture book written in Italian. She was surprised to hear him reply.

"Yes. Some better than others."

Christine looked over at M. Richmond, fascinated. She knew she was probably being nosey, but she couldn't help but find out more.

"How do you know so many?" asked Christine, placing the book back on the shelf. Part of her expected him to sneer at her and tell her to mind her own business. She was delightfully surprised when it answered her question.

"I've traveled to many countries, Mademoiselle. I couldn't help but pick up the local dialect."

Christine took a seat opposite of him. "Which countries?"

M. Richmond looked up from his book. "Too many."

Christine laughed. The laughter seemed to echo throughout the library as through it were a foreign sound to the mansion…and M. Richmond. He was looking at her curiously, as if wondering what had brought upon this show of happiness. Christine smiled at her strange, masked teacher. She had new goals for herself. To get him to smile and to get him to laugh.

"What was your favorite country?" asked Christine, pressing on the conversation further.

"I never found a place I was very fond of, Mademoiselle," said M. Richmond, closing his book.

"Christine," she said, smiling. "I told you yesterday I wanted you to call me Christine."

M. Richmond smiled. It was a charming smile – a practiced smile. It wasn't the type of smile she was looking for, but it would have to do for the time being.

"I shall try to remember," he said. "Christine."

Christine smiled. She liked how he said her name. It sounded musical, quite unlike how Francine and Alice Dawney said it. When her name was spoken by them it sounded like a curse. It was such a nice change.

"Can you tell me about the most interesting country?" said Christine. "What is it like?"

"Why the questions, Christine?"

Christine was delighted when he said her name again. It lit a new hope inside of her that one day they would become friends.

"I'm making conversation, Monsieur."

That seemed a decent enough answer for him. Christine leaned back into the chair and listened contently as he spoke to her about the different countries he had traveled in. He was talking about the exotic Persia when Christine stopped listening to every word he was saying and started to watch him. His golden eyes lit up as he recalled his trips and experiences. While the left side of his face as alive and illuminated by the light of the fire, the other side, the masked side, remained cold and emotionless. Christine wanted nothing more than to rip the mask from his face and never have to face the hard, distant side again. What ever was under it couldn't be as bad as the mask.

She was so content with just watching him that Christine failed to notice he had stopped talking. She didn't realize it until his eyes locked on to hers. The look sent chills down her spine, but not because it was cold.

"The rain stopped," noted M. Richmond, tilting his head toward the window.

Christine knew it was her time to go. She reluctantly stood up and smiled at him.

"Thank you for letting me stay," she said, after picking up the tray with the two empty tea cups. "And thank you for telling me about the countries."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, standing up to show her to the door. He didn't move at first, however. He seemed to be debating something.

"Christine?" called M. Richmond, before Christine reached the door. She turned around to look at him.

"Yes?"

"It doesn't seem right for me to address you so informally." Christine opened up her mouth to protest but he held up a hand to stop her. "Without you doing the same for me. Please…call me Erik."

"Erik," said Christine, softly. She liked his named and liked the way it sounded. It suited him. "Thank you again, Erik. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Don't be late this time," said Erik, frowning.

Through she knew he was being serious, Christine couldn't help but giggle at his strict nature.

"No. I won't."

* * *

A/N: I'm back! Yes, the ice is finally starting to break! Woho! 

I feel kind of bad for Francine and Alice...because I'm making them seem like little devillettes. They are certainly mean, greedy, and hateful. But they are not evil. You've been seeing their really really bad side because that is how they act toward Christine. The reasons will be explained later in the story. And you might be wondering why Nathalie seems nice. She's greedy, demanding, and can be a bit mean at times butshe just likes Christine...i won't explain why right now.

Thank you for reading! Please review!


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hello! I just had this great A/N all typed up...and fanfiction decided it wouldn't save it...But I'll see what I can remember from the original one. First off, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! They really help with the writing...both inspirationally and it helps me to see what you guys are thinking about the story (so i can improve it and such).

I just want to point out that my anonymous review feature was disabled (when i got this account I didn't change it) and now I enabled it. If you are an anonymous reader, feel free to review. If you are a flamer and do not wish to use your s/n...well now you can flame. But I really hope that is not the case! I'm glad that everyone is enjoying this story and it is even inspirational to some. :-D

The story is going to be moving a little quickier over the next few chapters, but it still should be a good pace. I'm planning on this story having about 20 something chapters. After that I'm going to either do a BATB story or do another fairy tale version of POTO (I'm not going to tell you which one just in case some evil person decides that they will take the idea :-P...I'll tell you that it is not Beauty and the Beast/POTO combination).

A big thanks to my beta, Timeless Rose. (Thank you for the suggestions! I'm planning on working with number three and number two is going to happen one way or another.)

So sit back and enjoy the chapter. Tell me how it is going in a review please!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

It was almost like a dream. It was going too perfectly to be happening to _her_!

Throughout the day, Christine would pinch herself just to make sure she was not asleep. It had been four weeks since her first music lesson with Erik. Four weeks of music. Four weeks of not being caught taking the lessons.

She was improving. Her voice was slowly, but surely, growing stronger with each lesson as Erik worked with it. She recalled some of the techniques he used as the ones her father had taught her. Others were new to her. Christine enjoyed the lessons as much as Erik allowed her too. He was a hard, strict teacher. He pointed out every mistake she made, no matter how minor, and she was forced to fix it. At times she grew so frustrated she was close to tears. But Erik didn't allow tears and therefore she didn't shed them.

The thing that kept Christine coming back willingly to each lesson was the improvement she was making. A month did not allow her voice enough time to make much improvement, but something good was happening! She knew very well that it would take months, even years, to make it worthy enough for a stage. Erik told her many times how much work it would take to make her voice perfection. And yet, as the lessons continued, Christine wanted nothing more than to dedicate herself to her lessons and music. She wanted to be the perfection Erik envisioned her to be.

The only problem was the issue of her stepfamily. Christine once used to think they hated all music. She knew better now. They hated music that reminded them of her father…and her.

Alice had started taking music lessons from a local musician in town. He was supposedly well known for turning mediocre singers into great Prima Donnas. Christine couldn't help but find the rumor a big lie by merely listening to one of their "music lessons". Alice's voice was high-pitched, loud, and screeching. Her lessons did nothing to change that. Some of the servants, Marthe being among them, had started to wear wax in their ears to keep out the horrible sound. Out of curiosity, Christine had lingered near-by the door to the library during one of the lessons. She could hear Alice's teacher praising her voice and her ability to project. She shook her head in horror at some of the "techniques" Alice was being taught. They would ruin her voice before ever making it better!

Then again…perhaps that was her teacher's goal.

To make matters worse, Alice was proud of her voice and took every opportunity she was offered to show it off. She even boasted about it in front of Christine. She was bold enough to ask her if she wished she was being given lessons from such a great teacher. To make her happy Christine said 'yes'. In an attempt to spark her jealously more, Alice told Christine all about her lessons and how wonderful her voice sounded. Christine smiled secretly to herself while Alice spoke to her about the 'proper' posture and techniques. Oh, how wrong was she!

Being exposed to another music teacher, Christine couldn't help but feel a growing sense of loyalty to her own. To Erik. She wouldn't deny to herself that she had grown fond of her mysterious teacher. Fond in the way a student should feel toward a beloved teacher. Any thoughts that strayed beyond that she instantly denied and cast away as a product of her overgrown imagination.

Their lessons together took place Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, and they started at two. Christine used the same excuse each time on Marthe. Marthe believed her to be in town socializing with young men and ladies her own age, especially her cold and distant friend. Marthe was almost too willing to believe that Christine was finally gaining a life that did not consist of her servitude to her stepfamily. It was Marthe's dream that she would one day fall in love and marry a respectable man from the town before Francine sent her off to a lonely, old man. Christine shivered at the thought of being forced into an arranged marriage. She knew she would have no choice but to follow her stepmother's wishes or run away if that be the case.

It was quite clear to Christine that her only hope was Erik. She not only wanted, but needed, to attend his lessons. Her voice would be the only thing she had when she was cast out into the world. Erik was the only one who could save her from the horrible fate her stepfamily had weaved for her.

* * *

Christine watched with dying hope as Erik slightly cringed at her inability to reach a high note. He had given her a piece to work on. It wasn't too difficult, but it was definitely made for a soprano. 

"I'm sorry," said Christine, as Erik stopped playing. "I'm running out of breath."

"Breathe in measure 26 after the dotted half note," he replied, placing a breath mark on his own copy of the music. "Breathe for the A, Christine. It won't be that hard to hit it."

Christine nodded, placing a dash after the dotted half note. She straightened herself as Erik began to play once more. She had barely begun to sing when a bell sounded in the distance. What shocked her more than the bell was how Erik slammed his fingers against the keyboard, making the music notes clash together.

"Never mind it, Christine," he said, regaining composure. "Begin it again."

Uncertainly, Christine began again. This time, they reached measure 26 where Christine took her breath. She sang the high note, but that quality was lacking.

"You have enough time to release the air you have left and take a fresh breath," instructed Erik. "That will help you get to the note and those after it."

Christine nodded. They were about to begin again when there was a knock on the door. Christine watched as Erik clenched his hands into fists.

"Do not disturb us," said Erik, loud enough to reach the person beyond the door. Regardless of his words, the door was opened enough for Mme. Giry's slight frame to slip through. Christine smiled at her in greeting, trying to make up for Erik's furious look. Most would be intimidated by Erik, but not Mme. Giry. Christine had the impression that the kind housekeeper had known Erik long before they took up residence at the mansion. She wasn't afraid of him or his mask.

"M. Khan is here to see you," said Mme. Giry. "He says he will not leave until he sees you in person."

"Then you may tell him he can wait in the parlor," said Erik, very visibly trying to contain his anger. Christine wondered who it was that could spark her teacher's anger in a mere second.

"He says it's urgent," insisted Mme. Giry.

"Let me assure you that our definitions of urgency differ greatly."

Mme. Giry placed her hands on her hips. "He told me to warn you that if you do not come down he will come up."

Erik pressed down hard on the piano keys, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, his golden orbs were full with a deadly calm. He stood up.

"Excuse me, my dear," said Erik to Christine, his cold eyes warming up a touch as they looked upon her. "I'll be back shortly."

Christine watched Erik's retreating figure, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. His words to her were still ringing pleasantly in her ears. He had never called her anything but Mademoiselle Daae or Christine before.

Christine shook her head, trying to rid her head of foolish thoughts. What he said meant nothing.

Curiosity crept upon Christine as she waited for her teacher. Surely it wouldn't hurt to go and see who this M. Khan was. Just a short glance while she was waiting for her teacher.

Christine walked to the top of the stairs. She could hear a set of voices coming from the downstairs. One she was very sure was her teacher's. He sounded quite furious and impatient. The other shocked her by sounding very familiar. It was a strange voice in the sense that it was accented. She was sure she had heard that voice somewhere before.

Christine quietly walked down a couple of steps to hear what they were saying more clearly. She was so sure she had heard that other voice before.

"Now really, Erik," came the accented voice. "Can't a man visit the house of his friend?"

"I never counted you amongst my 'friends', daroga," said Erik, his voice harsh. From downstairs, the foreign man chuckled. It was very clear he knew Erik well enough to know what he was like.

"My dear _friend,_" said the daroga, with amusement in his voice. "You would never count anyone."

"You know me too well for my comfort," said Erik. "I'll give you a choice, daroga. You may leave now quietly or I will throw you out."

"Why so difficult, Erik?"

Erik chuckled coldly.

"Apparently, you do not know me as well as you thought."

The daroga laughed. Christine liked the foreign man's laugh. It was rich and full of merriment.

"Usually by this time I have troubled you enough that you invite me in for a drink."

She remembered! It was the man she had met in town one day! The one who had dealt with the little thief! Christine was almost sure that was his voice. But how did he ever know Erik?

Christine took a few steps down the stairs. If she could just get a small glance at the man, her curiosity would be satisfied. Then she would run back upstairs and continue to wait for her teacher.

"Then you may take your drink and leave," said Erik, as Christine peeked around the corner. Yes, she recognized the tanned foreign man arguing with Erik. She was about to turn back and run upstairs when she felt a pair of eyes on her. She turned around to find the daroga's eyes on her. Erik followed his glance up to her and his face immediately twisted into one of disapproval. Christine bit her lower lip.

"Erik, aren't you going to introduce me?" asked the foreign man, turning to a very intimating Erik.

Erik scowled, but tilted his head slightly to give her an indication to join them. Christine smiled shyly at her teacher but he only responded with a cold stare.

"Daroga, this is Mademoiselle Christine Daae," said Erik, as Christine reached them. "Christine, this is Nadir Khan who I assure you will not grace us with his presence any longer."

Ignoring Erik's foul words, M. Khan politely took Christine's hand and laid a kiss on it.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle," he said, releasing her hand. "It is not often I see another at my reclusive friend's house." He chuckled and Christine smiled slightly at his joke. However, Erik was not amused. His arms were folded across his chest and the left side of his face was mimicking the mask on the right.

"Are you planning on leaving soon, daroga?"

If anyone else had spoken so rudely to another, Christine would have been appalled. Yet, being forward was part of Erik's nature and this foreign man was certainly aware of that. He smiled at Erik, but Christine couldn't help but notice the warning and disapproval in his eyes.

"You may expect me in the evening," said M. Khan. "Till later, Erik." He nodded his head toward Christine. "Farewell, Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine would have shouted a farewell after M. Khan, but one look from her teacher suggested that she best keep her month closed.

"I am sorry, Erik," apologized Christine, wishing to be spared his anger. "I should have stayed in the room."

"Yes, you should have," said Erik, as they climbed the stairs to the music room. "But this meeting was inescapable. Nadir hasn't quite given up his policing ways."

"How do you know him?" asked Christine. She was relieved Erik's anger was not going to be lashed out on her. She smiled slightly, pitying poor M. Khan when he returned in the evening.

"Persia," answered Erik, holding the music room door open for her. "Ever since he has made it his personal duty to 'watch out' for me."

"Why would he choose to leave his own country?"

Erik looked at her in silence for a moment. His eyes warned her that she had unknowingly strayed into a forbidden subject.

"He found a change of scenery to be most refreshing."

Christine watched as Erik sat down at the piano. As he placed his fingers over the ivory keys, Christine wanted nothing more than to hear him play. Not just play along with the notes or accompaniment of the song she was singing. She wanted him to play a real piece that was completely devoted to the music and the pianist.

"Could you play something?" asked Christine. Erik looked up at her uncertainly.

"What about your lesson?"

Christine smiled and shrugged slightly. "If it's alright with you, I can stay a bit longer today. I…I just want to hear you play something."

Erik's left eyebrow was raised in confusion and thought. Finally, he turned back to the piano.

"What do you wish to hear?"

"It doesn't matter to me," said Christine, softly. "Anything would do."

Christine watched in awe as his fingers took off on the keyboard. The notes wrapped around her, pulling her into the music. Rich notes as gentle as a sea breeze but as seductive as exotic sights and smells. As she watched him, it became clear to her that Erik had become enwrapped in the music. No…he was the music. His eyes were closed in complete concentration and peace. Christine was filled with wonder at how much talent her teacher possessed. Beautiful talent that he had chosen to grace her ears with…

The piece lasted for a few minutes. A few minutes of beauty and struggle expressed in the music. It was as through a life story was being unfolded in this piece. Whose story it told, she did not know.

She hadn't known she had closed her eyes. In a world where music reigned there was no need for sight. Music painted its story on the canvas of her mind. She did not need eyes to see it.

The music ended with a soft diminuendo. But yet, when the last note was played, the song still seemed to linger in the air. Christine eyes slowly opened when she realized it was over. She felt a reluctance to leave the music. _His_ world.

A pair of golden eyes was upon her. She could almost feel them searching through her soul. The thought sent chills down her spine and she shivered. The eyes immediately looked away.

"Was it pleasing to your ears?" asked Erik, relaxing slightly. Christine looked at him, recalling the way his golden orbs had looked upon her.

"It was beautiful."

"But did you enjoy it?"

Her answer seemed important to him. While many things were beautiful, not all people liked them and enjoyed seeing…or hearing them. He didn't want to her to judge the piece. He wanted to know its affect...on her.

"Yes."

* * *

Erik stared out the parlor window at the cold, rainy night. It had been raining for hours, stopping at around six but then continuing on as the small patch of white clouds moved on to be replaced with grey ones. He hoped his young protégé had not been caught in the rain again. 

It was a strange feeling – caring about what happened to someone other than yourself. It was a foreign feeling to him. For all his life he had been alone. He was the only one to take care of himself and in return he didn't have to take care of anyone else. It had been that way for so long, and now here he was! Caring about what happened to a girl who was too curious for her own good!

He had tried to convince himself that he was only concerned for her health. If she were to become ill, it would affect her singing. She wouldn't be able to practice or attend the lessons. He _should_ care about her health.

Yet, there was something more when he watched her sing or when her pale blue eyes were upon him. There was perhaps a little too much care for his student.

"Erik, I expected you to lock the door on me!"

Erik looked behind him to see Nadir walking up to him. He had shed his wet cloak, probably leaving it near the entrance. Erik shot him a cold glare as he took a seat opposite of him.

"Who is she, Erik?"

Erik calmly took a sip of his drink, his cold eyes never leaving the Persian.

"You are the daroga here," said Erik, lifting his eyebrow slightly. "Surely you know by now."

"She looked familiar," said Nadir, settling back into his chair.

"Did she?" said Erik. He tilted his head toward the wine bottle and empty glass. "There is your precious drink, daroga."

"Now, Erik," said Nadir, getting up to pour himself a glass of the wine. "You make me sound like a drunk."

"I won't deny it would give me much pleasure to throw you out into the rain under alcohol's influence," said Erik, a smirk settling on his face. "Pity you drink respectably. But I will hold to some hope."

Nadir chuckled, taking a polite taste of the drink. "Your hope will be in vain, my friend."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Erik calmly waited for the Persian to speak. He was fully prepared for Nadir's scolding and lectures.

"She was the girl in the market," said Nadir. "The one who bought the bread that the little boy stole."

Erik wasn't sure whether or not Nadir expected him to be shocked by this information. He had been riding in the carriage when they had come across the girl, but he had never seen the girl's face. He remembered liking the girl's voice. It had a pleasant quality to it that he had enjoyed listening to.

"Daae…" said Nadir, in thought. "It's a familiar name."

"Charles Daae," said Erik. "Her father. He was a musician."

"Was?"

"He passed away." He placed his drink on the end-table near his chair. "Why don't you just ask what you are thinking, daroga? I might just answer your question."

"What were you doing with her, Erik?"

A smirk made its way to Erik's face. This was exactly what he was expecting from the Persian.

"Are you questioning my honor? Christine's, perhaps?" Erik chuckled. "Daroga, you of all people would know that I had been given many opportunities in Persia which I turned down."

Nadir eyed him disapprovingly. He never knew when Erik was lying or not. His face never betrayed him for an instant. His golden eyes were always sharp and deadly calm – like that of a predator preparing to pounce on its prey.

"You are full of surprises, Erik," said Nadir, cautiously. "Did you, in any way, harm Mademoiselle Daae?"

"I never touched her, if that is what you are implying," said Erik. There was bitterness in his eyes. "No, daroga, I would never put her through _that_ torture."

Nadir sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingers in exhaustion.

"

Will you make this easy on me and tell me why she was here?"

"Am I not allowed to have a lady visit my house?" asked Erik. Despite the calm exterior, he was raging inside. Thoughts and feelings of injustices that he had learned to put down and accept were boiling at the surface. "I am like every other man, am I not?" He laughed bitterly. "Am I not allowed the same rights and pleasures as any other? Oh but my face, daroga! I'm forgetting about my face! Is that the reason why I couldn't possibly have a lady friend? You, daroga, always playing detective. Something must be wrong if a young lady is in the house of the living corpse!"

He was standing, now, and his voice had grown louder and full of anger. It took every ounce of his self-control not to rip the meddling Persian into pieces. Christine and their lessons were none of his concern!

"Get out, Nadir," growled Erik, sitting down in his chair with his head in his hands. "If I catch you sneaking around here in the afternoon I will break your neck."

The Persian got up, seeing that he had sparked Erik's rage far too much for one evening. But he had to know… If Erik was getting into trouble he had to stop it.

"What _was_ she doing here, Erik?"

Erik looked up at his persistent friend. "Music. I'm giving her voice lessons. Tell me, daroga. Is there anything so wrong with that?"

Nadir was clearly shocked. Voice lessons? How had Erik possibly obtained a pupil? Erik wasn't even one that would invite another to his home! Why, Nadir had to force his way in every time!

"Why were you…"

"Get out, Nadir," snapped Erik, threatening to unleash his anger one more.

Nadir nodded. "I'll be back to find out the rest."

Erik leaned back into his chair with a soft groan. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

With that Nadir left, leaving Erik to his thoughts and anger. Erik stared into the fire clenching his fist over and over again. He should have snuck away from the Persian when he had a chance. He should have gone far away where even that meddlesome daroga couldn't find him. But had he done that, he would have never met his protégé…his Christine.

Erik squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pains of a headache that were creeping up on him. His Christine? Since when had he started to refer to the girl as his Christine?

Christine was a wonder to him. Never before had someone so young grown used to his mask. There were few that could tolerate his strict teaching and flashes of anger. One of them was Christine. She wanted the lessons. She wanted to sing. Had she been any normal noble that wouldn't be the case.

Another thing that puzzled him was her family. He knew very well that she had no living blood-parents and was living with a step-mother. They had to still be wealthy to hold balls and dinners like the one he had been invited to and quickly refused.

_Would you go now? Now that your Christine will be there?_

Erik shook his head, not in denial, but to rid the thought from his head. Something told him Christine wouldn't be at the party, even if it was her family that was holding it. The way she dressed simple clothing…the way she offered to fix him tea whenever Mme. Giry was out. It angered him to think about it…but perhaps her step-family was mistreating her? Not in a violent sort of way, but rather taking away rights and privileges she had been born with. That would certainly explain why a girl who loved music had let her own precious instrument go to waste.

No matter what her status may be, he would still continue to teach her. Her voice would be perfection! She would dazzle crowds throughout the world. The Prima Donna Christine Daae!

_His Christine… _


	10. Mini Chapter 9

A/N: Ok...I have some bad news for readers...I'm extremely sorry about it and I hope I can make it up to you later this year. I won't be able to update properly anytime soon. I'm going away for this medical thing for ten days...then camping and an amusement park for another week. I get two nights at home for the next...three weeks. At the end of August I'm going away for the big family trip for about a week.

Had these been the only things that were going on I would have been able to update more often. However, I'm loaded with AP and English homework. While I have about twenty pages done already I have about a hundred and something more to write up...I'm serious about that...You see...my teacher gave us this huge packet and 188 pages to read and take notes on. Well I just saw that there are about 30 mini essays in that packet...that and I have to do one big research style essay. I have to visit three forts and do a project on them as well...Then for English I have to read three books and do journals on them...I have till September to do all of this..but my parents want most of it done by the third week of August.

In short, I won't be able to update more then once during the summer. Maybe twice if I have the inspiration and I have enough work done. I hope everyone understands that I have no time to write until all this homework is done. I DO, however, know where I want to take the next chapter and therefore I do know what to write on.

To follow fanfiction rules and not completely disappoint you guys, I'm giving you what I have done of Chapter 9. It's short and my beta hasn't checked it. It will be checked when I write the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for understanding. I really hope everyone stays with me. This is hard for me to do. I much rather be writing than doing AP American History and English homework.

I'm so so so sorry for disappointing you guys. This story is by no means abandoned though. It will be updated sometime in August or early September.

* * *

Chapter 9 

Christine nearly collapsed on the dirt ground in exhaustion. The summer sun beat down on her, causing layers of sweat to form on her face. Usually she liked working outside, but today seemed unnaturally hot.

"You're not going to get any work done when you're on your bottom," scolded Lucie from the other side of the garden. Her face was tight with frustration, both from the weeds and the heat. "Get up or I'll find something else for you to do after this."

Christine glared at Lucie before getting back on her knees. She hated weeds with a strong passion. She especially hated the combination of weeds, heat, and Lucie. Of all the servants to get stuck with outside, it had to be the slave driver herself!

To make matters worse, two o'clock was coming too soon. Lucie knew about her trips in the afternoon. Unlike Marthe, she disapproved. A servant, she argued, had a duty to the household, not to her friends. Christine knew she wouldn't let her go if she asked.

"Could we take a break for water?" complained Christine, looking up at Lucie. Perhaps she could sneak away… She was willing to take the punishment when she returned. She just couldn't be late for a lesson! Erik would be furious!

"After we're done," said Lucie. Christine groaned, causing Lucie to look up at her.

"Now don't give me that, girl. I know very well you want to go off with your friends. I'm going to make something very clear to you right now. There is not going to be anymore of this 'socializing'. Your job is here."

Had it been cooler, Christine might have argued with her. But the heat kept her mouth shut and her back bent over her work. She didn't want to miss the lesson. Erik had said they would start a new aria today, seeing as how she had almost completed the one she had been working on. He had seemed rather excited when he spoke of it. Christine was curious to which piece it was.

She only hoped she would get a chance to find out.

"Lucie! Christine!"

Christine's head popped up hopefully at the sound of Marthe's voice. Marthe's wonderful, straight from heaven voice!

Marthe opened the gate to the garden while pulling out something from her pocket. Letting out a sigh, she wiped a handkerchief across her forehead.

"I don't much recommend running in this heat," she said, placing the cloth back in her dress pocket. She pointed a finger at Christine, shaking it slightly. "What are you still doing here? You're usually gone by now. And look at you! Your face is as red as a tomato!"

Lucie stood up, shaking off some of the dirt that had gathered on her dress. Straightening herself, she placed her hands on her hips. Christine almost smiled at the way she was trying to gather dignity and authority. Marthe wouldn't care. She wasn't intimated easily.

"I'm just teaching this girl the meaning of work. She's not going to learn anything if she is in town. Why! When I was her age, I was breaking my back over all sorts of work. Never once did I complain! Never once!" Lucie shot an accusing glare at Christine. "It's about time she learned the meaning of sacrifice!"

There was complete silence after Lucie's short speech. Christine looked back and forth from the two ladies. While Lucie appeared to be fuming with her red, sweaty face, Marthe was looking at her quite dully.

"Are you done, Lucie?" asked Marthe, calmly. Lucie only responded with a cold looked. A smile broke out on Marthe's face. "Good! Then you can finish up the weeding while Christine takes a break." Lucie opened her mouth to protest but she quickly shut it as Christine hurried over to Marthe. As Christine opened the gate to let them out, Marthe turned back to look at Lucie.

"Youth only comes once in a life time. Don't be jealous of Christine when you wasted away your own."


End file.
